Brumaire

Though you lived your life In front of names of old, rearing horses lie That workers aren't blindfold Events don't know man, for they don't have a soul Produce accidents, substance takes it's toll Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate Bleed the skull from culture That repeats farce so pure That you're bored of Alphabet lives, who just describe Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth Brumaire's up eighteenth Take the bow now Though you're made from dust, elusive grandeur calls. Amputate ornate The ideal always stalls Brumaire's guise, Brumaire denies Give us the land who loves command, growing rate is soul incarnate Bleed the skull from culture That repeats farce so pure That you're bored of Alphabet lives, who just describe Vertical worlds with hierarchical words yet talk sticks in my teeth Brumaire's up eighteenth Take the bow now