Of Montreal - Belle Glade Missionaries Lyrics
Belle Glade missionaries are here to steal your cocaineYou better send your malaria to puncture their brainsSend them back to where they came fromSend them back to the savannahs of diseaseFrom your first psychotic episode to your juggernoose schitzophreniaIt's your dysphoric mania that makes you so likeableThat makes everyone want to save youSave you only for themselvesThey're letting children get blown up in their schools todaySo they can get them back into their factoriesI know it pains me to see you all being so betrayedBut I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matterDoesn't matterThose people must be high because the bitter winter windsHave made the bones of my jaw go hollow and there's a scentThat there's a prowler on the prairieLeaving hair on the wallsWe helped to flatten the sound abound down below the streetAnd my greatest fear is release into someone else's consciousnessAnd still there's these razors to pretend withThey're letting children get blown up in their schools todayJust so they can get them back into their factoriesYou know it pains me to see you all being so betrayedBut I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matterI have a sense you want to be the female Henry MillerCynically referring to your lovers as your pricksAnd exploiting other people's madnessAh nemesis, you claimed to have called out to meTelepathically through our archaic mediumsBut i never once heard you so I think you were just lying againFeel like I'm in Beckett's MalloyLike some nature people avoidLike my talents been destroyedLike I'm some paraspectral voiceWith no choices at the presentStill there's a value in things unpleasantWhile you post ***** GIFs of your epileptic fitsAnd keep track of your hitsWhile your friends don't give a shitThey view your fugues with amusementAll the evils in the universe, there are no victimsOnly participantsThey're letting children get blown up in their schools todaySo they can get them back into their factoriesIt pains me to see you all being so betrayedBut I guess you'll never know so it doesn't matterCan't trust my instincts latelyThey don't feel organicThey feel more syntheticThey feel more syntheticThey feel more syntheticSyntheticSynthetic
