Masters of Reality Follow

Gerard Gerard, transparent skin
Lit blue eyes, kiss on the chin
You wrapped up oracle, you feverish germ
You scratch of the wool, the incubus' squirm

La da da da da da da da da da da da da da
La da da da da da da da da da da la da da da
Da da da da da da da

Not kind were my thoughts, for the ghost on the bus
The faithful 2:40, that tranported us
From the houses of women, left to weep in their wombs
To our dry sanctuaries, to our suicide rooms
Look homeward angel, spit on your curse
It can only get better, because nothing is worse

This is Robert Johnson from outer space
This is Mother Teresa with the world on her face
This is the cookie that crumbles
This is everything gone
This is Martin Luther
This is 'Phil and Don'
This is ground below zero
This is safety and harm
This is 'low' and 'heroes'
This is sex on your arm
This is blood on a banner
This is fall and ascension
This is American idol
This is the eleventh dimension
This is the stele of revealing
This is the talk of John Paul
This is too crazy to mention
This is nothing at all