Momus - Orchestras lyrics
[Momus - Orchestras lyrics]
Where are you now my problematic fave?
Oozing or just snoozing
Snoozing in your grave
In the age of information you
Escaped the great palaver
Another gargoyle strangled by your slave
Oozing and a-snoozing in your grave
So great to hear that you became
World famous in the end
No-one got the memo though
My bulbous headed friend
Intuitively late for your blind
Date with Madame Fortune
These orchestras are dead
That rush for inequality
How was it ever clean?
The bowing and the scraping
Was so monstrously obscene
The lurch-creep of the puritan
The stink of burning bras
These orchestras are dead
These orchestras are dead
But long live the unborn!
The baby yet-to-come!
Long live the pinky paupers and
The awful git's of dawn
Delightful gifts are coming that
We've yet to understand
These orchestras are dead
These orchestras are dead
A world-defeating dildo to the end
Just in time for such a
Fine catastrophe my friend
Seething with frustration at
Your third inoculation
And a green electric scooter's all they send
A green electric scooter's all they send
And no-one ever pesters you
For interviews today
No muscle-bulging knuckleheads to hold
The crowds at bay
Just autistic incel bedroom boys who
Clutch their heads and say:
"These fingered air apostrophes
Mean everything today"
Each courting his catastrophe in his AirBnb
But the rush for inequality
Was never ever clean
The bowing and the scraping that
Left us sick and green
The creep of the obsequiots
The stink of burning bras
This orchestra is dead
This orchestra is dead
But long live the unborn!
Long live the yet-to-come!
Long live the pinky paupers and
The awful git's of dawn
Delightful things come raining down
We've yet to understand
Now the awful star is dead and we
Are free to be the fans
Of every fucking nothing thing at all
These orchestras are dead
Oozing or just snoozing
Snoozing in your grave
In the age of information you
Escaped the great palaver
Another gargoyle strangled by your slave
Oozing and a-snoozing in your grave
So great to hear that you became
World famous in the end
No-one got the memo though
My bulbous headed friend
Intuitively late for your blind
Date with Madame Fortune
These orchestras are dead
That rush for inequality
How was it ever clean?
The bowing and the scraping
Was so monstrously obscene
The lurch-creep of the puritan
The stink of burning bras
These orchestras are dead
These orchestras are dead
But long live the unborn!
The baby yet-to-come!
Long live the pinky paupers and
The awful git's of dawn
Delightful gifts are coming that
We've yet to understand
These orchestras are dead
These orchestras are dead
A world-defeating dildo to the end
Just in time for such a
Fine catastrophe my friend
Seething with frustration at
Your third inoculation
And a green electric scooter's all they send
A green electric scooter's all they send
And no-one ever pesters you
For interviews today
No muscle-bulging knuckleheads to hold
The crowds at bay
Just autistic incel bedroom boys who
Clutch their heads and say:
"These fingered air apostrophes
Mean everything today"
Each courting his catastrophe in his AirBnb
But the rush for inequality
Was never ever clean
The bowing and the scraping that
Left us sick and green
The creep of the obsequiots
The stink of burning bras
This orchestra is dead
This orchestra is dead
But long live the unborn!
Long live the yet-to-come!
Long live the pinky paupers and
The awful git's of dawn
Delightful things come raining down
We've yet to understand
Now the awful star is dead and we
Are free to be the fans
Of every fucking nothing thing at all
These orchestras are dead