No Sleeves

The singer of the band

Has been encased

In a circuit board formed

From arsenic and old lace.

The piano has been dropped.

A c-note hits the cop.

So he would turn away

While we're cleaning up the slop.

This is the bishop's finger.

This is the bishop's hand.

Onto Jesus' body

The people place demands.

They're pointing with their pistols,

While we're reaching for the sky.

The soundtrack of their lives

Is an eye for an eye...

Hail hail the talk show,

Cocked after cocktails.

I lied and I lied...

God save the techno!

The sequencers don't know

When it died, when it died...

Edison put the gun in our hands.

The black bear put

The muzzle to its muzzle.

The dogwood didn't care

But the maple was troubled.

Trademark, this is a trademark,

This move was trademarked in 1883.