several were shot to h-ll, brought through the back door, they sat down and plucked out their eyes.
shut up and bring me the head of the spaniard on acid who stole every filling of gold that they dropped in my teeth,
notice how much she keeps tabs on the past-
six miles, we’ve seen no signs of life,
she laughed and stuck her gum
against the side of my thumb.
on the gearstick, p-ssion is measured in kelvin.
you and your icelandic ancestors’ eyes.
too much exposure is likely to rip you from
laurels that no one deserved,
least of all, you and your feeble desire for a million admirers who dote on dead and their corpulent filth.
notice how much she keeps tabs on the past.
oh, my traveling days cut short by the grave,
dismantled by fear and j-panese trains that fly through the air,
and land on the hoods of indian rickshaws,
their motors dissolved by all of the salt,
that’s gathered in texas, where portuguese widows
eat catfish and curse us,
american fruitcake she left on the doorstep,
so foreigners hate us.
20 minute loop - carlos the jackal lyrics are property and copyright of their owners and provided for educational purposes and personal use only.