My korth vintage

Chained to the belly above

Down thru wormholes

You sink into suburbia’s fabric

Swastika army, you return, like shadows

I am who I am:

A psychic fighter

Dont even try, man, learn

Vanish again, go bang

FUCK OFF

I’m walking

The stolen landscape,

I’m pondering love

(How did I get here? I don’t know, a soul in soil)

I carry a dream about a love that

Could be

Carry it round with my Psychic Korth vintage

Love crazy

Honour for my lady

FUCK OFF

I see them desert men upon me, again

Not worth a damn

Not worth the sand they exhale

Nazis pass into every past

Vanish into dust

I’ll fuck you off, with my fuck off gun

I’m my own army

FUCK OFF

But I’m in love, and

Don’t give a damn about anything else

And you’re just in the way, mate

So I point my revolver, goes bang with the phrase

Back at your blank gaze

FUCK OFF