An Apocolyptic Attempt To Blow Things Out Of Proportion; or What's For Breakfast, Cochise?



So you think that it's the end of the world,
don't just stand there man, go and rob something.
It's Armageddon all over again, winds that blow,
so it's time to cash in all the life insurance.



Long long times have come and gone,
but we're still here man, where's the beer?
I'm all out of options, all out of renewals,
so it's time to rent a car and crash into a river.



We're going for broke, yes we're going for style,
so hang your hat kid, and listen a while.
It's a brand new day with the same old face,
but with twenty buck you can (fill in the blanks).



All this time that I've talked to you,
I've realized I haven't said a single damn thing.
I'm long on wind but not in willpower,
so kick the seat back and take a test drive.



Gun the throttle and make for speed,
it's about time we get the hell outta Dodge.
I'm spending money like it's going outta style,
but that's ok man, my God is cooler than yours.



Every daybreak is another chance to lose,
another chance to break, another chance to choose.
It's not about what you've done; just who you know,
with the right grease you can zip on to Hell.



You bitch and complain, but you don't give a damn,
you fill up all the silences with hollow words.
Your empty soul's writing checks your priest can't cash,
but that's ok, your the man, you got the devil on your side.



Everytime you take a swig, the poison seeps in your veins,
gotta cut all the rot out, it was once your beating heart.
Nail your prophecies down with nine inch nails,
and don't let the blood on your hands concern you.



It's like this, I've said too much, talked too much,
but you weren't listening to me anyhow.
You sold your soul to hear words of power,
and demons just whispered it while you slept.



Everytime you say your name, a shiver runs down my back,
your a shark in a suit, but with less spine.
An empty calorie filled with vitamin goodness,
we consume in mass quantities to starve to death.



Dear God, man, what have you done with yourself,
rolling down the hood in a piece of shit car.
You got wasted, got thin, got high,
sooner or later you'll pay every red cent.



All this time I've dazzled you with your own ineptness,
but you've convinced yourself you're God's Gift.
You're inadequate to the point of destruction,
but here you are, gun to the head, pull trigger squish.

01/24/2006