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Bread and Circuits
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Bretton Woods
The art of war behind closed doors, Bretton Woods, 1944. To liberalize the flow of lies and white noise information their contingency, I believe to bleed us like economies. We failed to realize this, the devils internalized the occupation.
If I swallow something evil stick your fingers down my throat. I can't recall the faces of names, but I manage to know where to place the blame.
Their vast array of weaponry, deployment or diplomacy, the trilateral pillars of international financial killers. Their brutality, I concede, tempered with cool efficiency for sarin gas and shot gun blasts, 更多更詳盡歌詞 在 ※ Mojim.com 魔鏡歌詞網 leave imprecise incisions to dislocate the act from our actions. The careful hands of death's technicians.
Pixilate the debate, replicate our lives, a facsimile. Such a horribly beautiful rendition. Their alien tongue rolls off our lips like bits of binary code. We failed to recognize, the devils digitized the conversation.
If I swallow something evil stick your hands down my throat. Shattered hearts and broken hands, all part of the plan, all part of their plans.
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