Blunder in the Street - Communions

With mockery of luxury

And hostility to all the powers that be

It’s better to reign down in hell

Than to serve the rules of taste

We’ll burn our poems to keep warm

So we’ll burn our poems to keep warm

We’re a blunder in the street

We don’t strive for happiness

And there’s comfort in defeat

Knowing that we believe that there’s more to nature than charade

Ruins show that flourishes will fade away

And trumpets will be blown

For now the futur is the fiction that we own

What a wonder to bhold

We’re the sons and daughters

With no call to arms

To keep up in the race

Show us to the nearest window

Where we can throw our money out

We’ll paint your walls and steal your clothes

We’ll paint your walls and steal your clothes

We’re a blunder in the street

We don’t strive for happiness

And there’s comfort in defeat

Knowing that we believe that there’s more to nature than charade

Ruins show that flourishes will fade away

And trumpets will be blown

For now the future is the fiction that we own

What a wonder to behold

Just strain your eyes and try and understand

Could the monster make a man?

Strain your eyes, try and understand

Could the monster make a man?