one god
beautiful south, the
like the toupee on a fading fame
the final whistle in a losing game
thick lipstick on a five year old girl
it makes you think it's a plastic world
a plastic world and we're all plastic too
just a couple of different faces in a dead man's queue
the world is turning disney and there's nothing you can do
you're trying to walk like giants
but you're wearing pluto's shoes
and the answers fall easier from the barrel of a gun
than it does from the lips of the beautiful and the dumb
the world won't end in darkness
with coca cola clouds behind a big mac sun
a howling scream in a church asleep
rusty bicycle in an ocean deep
like an ear-ring on the newly born
strong perfume on a winter's morn
the world is perfumed and we're perfumed as well
petals from a flower that blossomed in hell
and you can't breathe the air through the thickness of the smell
and you can't see the hair through the grease of the gel
and the answers fall easier from the barrel of a gun
than it does from the lips of the beautiful and the dumb
the world won't end in darkness
with coca cola clouds behind a big mac sun
you say there's only one god
you could do with two or three
your jesus christ is hired out
well if peter is a prostitute
then what does that make me
there should be two or three
there should be two or three
there should be two or three