Invisible Career

there's blood on your costume plants

from his shrinking mentality

oh, come and turn the walls grey

why not pour your culture into a mire

turn your vices into products

living like this

he has a penchant for broken horrors

he's just a fucking salesman

corpses are improvements

they will all want dignity

the exhibitionism of baring the soul

is usually practiced by the blind

waiting eventually turns one into a lobby

the rising hand of hell grips my bitter teeth

language neither living nor dead

servant aping the master

poets only pretend to die

instant celebrity machine

mirrors reflect too much

i feel like ripping my jaw bone from my skull

anything to break this anxiety

this continual ridicule of being nowhere

sick to death of the stale air

the endless exhibition of squalor

a plastic moment in an invisible career

by Raygun