Songtexte Travolta - Mr. Bungle
All
behold
the
spectacle
A
fleshy
limbless
rectangle
Sitting
on
a
pedestal
So
nasal
handicapable
Sniff
and
remember
silver
ball
Contortions
that
he
can't
recall
The
torso
on
a
trampoline
The
happiness
melts
into
dream
To
talk
is
an
enunciated
sneeze
To
taste
is
some
foul
air
to
breathe
One
thought,
it
lasts
a
day
And
at
that
rate
- he'll
most
likely
live
forever!
He's
a
bird
in
flight,
a
hermaphrodite
And
he
fucks
himself
as
he
fucks
the
world
His
twitching
brain
can
dance
within
Gyrating
more
like
gelatin
A
secret
means
of
ecstasy
Acute
and
very
olfactory
To
see
is
colors
crawling
in
the
nose
To
hear
is
stinking
highs
and
lows
He's
got
an
itch,
but
nothing
with
which
To
scratch
the
itch
- so
wish
it
away
With
his
mouth
sewn
shut,
he
still
shakes
his
butt
Cuz
he's
Hitler
& Swayze
& Trump
& Travolta
Smell.
Sweat.
Movement.
Everyone's
dancing.
Disco.
Dimple.
Fading.
Darker.
A
subtle
fragrance.
Faint.
Everyone's
dancing
without
him.
Where
did
it
go?
Dark.
Odorless.
Nothing.

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