Pulse

My baby paints herself red

She paints her hair

Her hair is dead.

She's living in the city with the bodies that scream.

We are all Jesus.

We all dream.

See the dancers,

See them reeling.

Paint the sky up on the ceiling.

Four useless Gods upon a day,

So blinded by the filth on Sunday.

Saying the words for the idiots,

You are miracle drible, optical sewer.

LIsten to the flowers fall.

Paint the words up on the wall.

This is the pulse of fools like you.

Who sound so red and turn so blue.

The sound of uselessness in Summer.

War is over, i

If you want.

See the dancers,

See them reeling.

Paint the sea up on the ceiling.

Pulse!

My baby paints herself red

She paints her hair,

Her hair is dead.

She's living in the city with the bodies that scream.

We are all Jesus!

We all dream.

See the dancers,

See them reeling.

Paint the sky upon the ceiling.

That's pulse!