Like Virgin Vinyl. . .in Bed

These words don't mean shit. They never do. You're all bullshit artists looking for the catch phrase of the day. So all the sheep come running with their mouths agape, and their fingers pointed high. We're sick of the pretty ones with cocaine eyes and name-drop tounges selling handshake-lies about these broken skies. We're all bullshit artists, and this is wire tapped soul-searching at it's worst.