Sofa-King-Hardcore
model youth in a street side window
smiling and waving at a world all to psuedo
all thats real to them is force fed
the boy struggles to turn his plastic head
to sheild his blood shot blue eyes from the sun
the girl struggles to shape her hand into the shape of a gun
I stumble down the road and see them fight
crashing and burning they didnt have any head lights
I see them, no slack in their strings
I see them, melt their plastic wings
a smile creeps onto my face while I dream
still stumbling I see a monster, but I dont scream
he bites me and scratches me and sticks me in his mouth
I dont fight, I dont kick, I dont pull my knife out
the monster eventually dies from indigestion
I crawl out with a new life perception
theres ketchup on the floor but I dont see it and I fall
your there and you laugh and I laugh cause its funny after all
I hug you and we jump into my automobile and drive to teledo
the manaquins are there and they are modeling speedos
we point and laugh and snap their elastic
they cry, so we take em to a motel room and caress their plastic
they escape on the middle of the night with all our socks
we go out to the shadow and its up on cinderblocks
we grab some wings and fly to the moon
the moon men say go away theres no more room
I give birth to the messiah that night in a crater
I asked him 'why me?' he sayed hed tell me later
some guy in white pajamas told me to name him sofa-king
It sounded sweedish to me, but who am I to question anything
sofa-king grew up and invented punk rock and went on tour
we both watched him with pride, he called himself sofa-king-hardcore
sofa-king died one day cause I accidentally shot him with a stapel gun
now I'm living with you in a volcano with the royalties from our son
knife in my pocket, dead monster head on the wall
manaquin skin on the floor, martian servants always on call
we were always there and we always will be
just sofa-kings millions and the love between you and me
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