Singing Of The Bonesaws – Future Of The Left Lyrics

The music industry is lying to you

It is telling you that you are excited

And you are excited

And you are excited

Or rather you have confused excitement with the fear of missing out

Which is understandable as these two feeling are very closely related

Focusing as they do, on the heart and the groin and ending in a bloody mess, pregnancy tests and too little sleep

A survey says that shouting amities in a regional accent is valuable to culture

Look at Eastenders, Soccer AM or the Queens speech

A survey says pedafiles run the BBC but look at the alternatives

Drowning men clutching at straws through their bellend helden, sad women dreaming of being owned by them, their children eventual despoilers of the high-streets clad head to toe in menstrual blood.

Screaming sexual insults into bedroom mirrors with the sad belief it will empower them

And it will empower them

And it will empower them

At least that’s what it says on my cereal packet

That’s what it says on my receipt from the apple store

Good lord

I cannot identify the bloodied bodies of my loved ones

They were killed whilst watching a new television show on the MTV network

One were Kim Kardashian is chased through woodland by a giant bear wearing a mask which carries the visage of recently deceased film director Michal Winner

The bear has apparently not qualified for a work placed pension and is  angry with Daniel Day Lewis for what he perceives as the relative lack of action in their will be blood

Which he otherwise enjoyed but found a little precious for its tastes

Anyway after twenty minuets of panic running around intercut with interviews with friends and other celebrities, the production team behind the show all simultaneously come to the same horrifying conclusion

Their waste of the precious gift of life which has been given to them by science, they start attacking themselves with the nearest available objects, braking off camera tripods to ram  them bloodily into each other’s eyes

Climbing up the highest branches of trees to fall face down on to the pulsing earth, the whole time shrieking and screaming with the sudden primal vigour of lost souls who have forgotten language and seem intent on shouting their black hearts from their grey, semi erect chests

Quite

They face, the pigs

They face the pigs they were

They face, the pigs

They face the pigs they were

Anyway, my family members otherwise enjoying a restful Sunday afternoon spent basking in the Christian lie of a benevolent and loving God, witness this horror through the prism of their television set, concentrating hard on the psychic bloodied anguish which has utterly enveloped the unlikely wooden scene, is transmitted directly into the heart of our living room

And they bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

And bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

And bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

And bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

And bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

they bask from scream and into their eyes and their hearts and their minds and their tits and their bits

Thoughts echo, from off foreheads

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