You're a god charade I'll let you down like a noise complaint I know my cover's blown Fetish and fury tax Worshipping everything I lack is dumb Invention strung Into empty space where hollow shapes will misbehave What does holy want? I'll be that Picturesong Make me into a hundred words Hide me in bathroom walls It's a spastic shame That hollow shapes will break the frame What does holy want? A wind up Picturesong A muse to sing a dozen words A silence for the wall