Murder the Masters Songtext
von Consumer Electronics

You talk too loud, too eager
Too much modulation and intonation of rhyme
Too much fucking whine
Kid, we′ll need to make amends
For noticeable skin problems/patterns of susceptibility
Petty, grasping fucking desperate for the fucking lot of it
Cunty fingers and some sad excuse
Regarding cunty weakness and imperfection
Acquire looking terrible in public

I thought there'd be papers, media
Maybe crisis response teams
Fresh from the latest Heathrow hoax
Not just the adult dead
On the spectrum, mannequin rags in municipal drab
The extinct, not to come
Teeming, jumbled creatures, locusts and calves
Teeming, confinement in cells
Seven feet long, three feet high
Aberrations fumbling toward empirical grasp


But you, you exist
Your sour-leaking body wrapped in towels
And dropped shivering to centre stage
I am not here to help you
Knowledge equals nothing
The skills of the surgeons, nothing
The will to change, nothing
You can make a wish, make a million fucking wishes

Wired to the university mainframe
As chains of amphibians squall in blood and gaffa themselves
Imagine howling for every rehearsal and routine
Dying so slowly you′d hardly even notice
Performance anxiety and sorry depravity
Typical bitch perversity
Shaved to the very bone, tied at the wrists

Here is what we know
Fictitious capitol, hopeless heat
Rainforest depletion
North American drought and nuclear Pakistan
Vilna, Minsk, Medina, Amsterdam
Various species of worms and lice
You need to make amends, bite back hard
Before we cart you to the furnace
Murder the masters and people the pits
Treat, fold into your solitary, protected hibernation


I know where every fucking bone is
And which one hurts the most
Insect-limbed, tainted pretty parts

There is Hannah, whittled thin on working indoors
Turn the house slowly around
So the feathered flesh baby can face the storm

Tell me what you like and I'll show you what you are
Botched scenes and poisons pushed into you
Fake bonding, fake comfort, fake nourishment
Nothing in you save chewed hair
Nothing in you save chewed nails and hair
Your fine, flayed lady skin

Whiff life from the flagpole
Moments of clarity as the hooks go in
As the lights go out

Ask a ten-dollar whore if she'd like to go to school
Go and ask her again what she′d like to fucking do
Ask the fishermen, ask the prostitutes
About biological markers and klepto-diversity
If they still listen to your voice, tell you what they are
If they still listen to your voice, tell you what they are

Shut up, don′t you want to be grown up?
Kitty, get back to basket
Kitty, wake up and clean up

And after you die, some part of you lives on
As some fucking reward
Maybe you should think about getting paid up front

All warm and wet, hesitation marks
Maybe you should think about the best fucking thing cunt could do now
Spill into the lives of others, cunt could do it now

Just drop down between dry rafters
Maintain this coward ecstasy

Butcher's wire round your throat
Dollhouse songs unwinding ′til you choke
Relaxed with a knife

Fine red misted, ocean shut down
Learn the swivel and turn
Learn it and learn it well
This improved view of hell
And the sham and pretend of the world