Clutch - Bottoms Up, Socrates lyrics

They came marchin down the street in robes
In the spirit of Spanish Inquisition
Guitars and trombones
Mechanical monkeys make good musicians

Streets urchins, the smugglers and dingos
Dead languages and living man lingos
Put the relics of the saint in a glass
Box and march him around the block

Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss no use for the poet
When the hopeless seek no bliss

Mason jars of petroleum
You know those kids don't play
And should you ever get ahold of them
I'll tell you exactly what they say:
"Time we told you son about the family curse"
And when they opened up the diary
To gain an explanation
They find only terminal verse

Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss no use for the poet

When the hopeless seek no bliss

X ray visions eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates hemloc straight up
Goes down easy

Hangin on the words of a madman
Islands in the abyss no use for the poet
When the hopeless seek no bliss

X ray visions eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates
Hemlock tastes like ripple wine

X ray visions eye in the sky
The naked being led by the blind
So Bottoms up, Socrates hemlock straight up
Goes down easy