Warming Up The Brain Farm

<br>Dear God, <br>The patient`s best intentions have sadly faltered. <br>Despite his newly installed, varnished brain, and being<br>force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is <br>determined to obtain the new drone spiders` trophy. <br>He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats. <br>Quite frankly i`m sickened to have this individual infiltrate<br>my headspace. <br>He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second<br>as the clock spits, clicks, and time speeds by in the <br>form of a neon snake. <br>Massive delusions? <br>Very probably. <br>I fear for my safety. <br>He is as weak as his fellow man. <br>I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks, <br>clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate. <br>I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients<br>cohesive lyrical maps in exchange for a vision of the<br>future. <br>Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal<br>toxins <br>Hardcore Punk Paste. <br>Allstars takin` over... <br><br>Early draft of lyrics taken from Radio 1 Breezeblock DJ set <br>Dear God, <br>The patient`s best intentions have sadly faltered. <br>It has of late become apparent, he`s driven by lust and<br>he`s as weak as his fellow colleagues. <br>A hypocrite, surrounded by liars and bed-wetters. <br>Stricken with grief, he turns to lethal toxins, hardcore<br>Punk Paste. <br>Goodbye Lord <br>Allstars takin over...