I work to make you feel better
Riding in a death machine
Waiting for my life to be over
Choking on the fumes of you talking
I hope to die out on the road
I hope my blood spells out ‘fuck you’
I hope your fuel dries up
And your humans rust
Free me from this cage that traps me
Ballet in tin can tomb
I hate this life you give me
I’ll strip your hand of flesh to chew
We stew in traffic jam curses
I throw the curse back to you
I hope to die out on the road
I hope my blood spells out ‘fuck you.’
I hope your fuel dries up
And your humans rust
I watch you watching over me
I wonder what it’d be like to kill you
Every time I get in my suicide car
I dream of driving into your face
I am what you refuse to give me
What I make will change you
I am what you refuse to give me
What I make will end you
supported by 8 fans who also own “Tin Can Tomb (And Other Modern Interpretations of Hell)”
One of the best albums of all time. It is a steamroller of creativity and innovation. It's as if a cybernetic universe opens up around me and all that remains is to explore it. Cyber Djinn