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THE MOLIQULE - MECHANICAL ELVES - LE PARASITE REMIX
Remix of Mechanical Elves by The Moliqule from his album Audible Imagery (2003)
lyrics
Mechanical Elves
Greetings from the boundaries, allow me to provide a brief description. It’s shrouded in darkness with an unwarranted but tarnished image. I’ve got glitches and exhibit a tragic perspective with embedded processors odd questions and toxins ingested since fetal status. Extract then rebury hatchets, rekindle the inactive graduate student of the school of Athens. Passive aggressive hardly, overly sensitive slightly, heavy quite often, one hand in the gauntlet and still writing. Idling engines droning non- roaming retinas, center of the black hole stroll avoid motion sensors, perilous environments guided weapons attached to hang-gliders and flown by retired crop duster pilots. Horizons of dilapidated landscape features, leisure suit made of tyvex. I cry stress through the speakers.
Leaders seeking a following the qualified need only apply, an extensive knowledge of nothing with no desire to question why. Contrived disaster, distress signal, acidic drizzle, ten finger tips each balancing individual ballistic missiles.
I said ten finger tips each balancing individual ballistic missiles
I was built from nuclear bomb casings engraved with waveforms stray cords and a vital organ made from a claymore. I stay warm huddling with reactors activated by clappers, she holds my heart I hold the gray matter. A stray pattern I make, an exodus type trek. One man battalion marching barefoot and backwards right; left. I crept from the doldrums a soldier crawling beneath the radar. A seat reserved at the round table, my name on a placecard. Self proclaimed oracle with a strong sense of imminent doom, there’s limited room and their ravenous, look out for cutthroat inhabitants. I rock a wrist sundial with an abacus, stir crazy went the caged animals, and haywire went the gadgets. I went right along with them, system on the fritz, I sip the serum, here comes another couple of nails in the crypt. Covered in glyphs that can’t be transcribed, tomb surrounded by landmines, advertised invasion, so battle station on standby. This is the grand prize trip from nowhere to the fringes with travel accommodations provided by 84 beats per minute.
The treatment is frigid, surrounded by arctic dispositions, with permafrost approach consider me ghost in the mechanism.
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