Pounds Per Square Inch Songtext
von Irk

I am becoming seriously concerned

The end of days is turning into something of an inconvenience

Step out onto hot tarmac and you′re faced with two fat
Schoolboys offering a wisecrack
You reach for something like a feeling of clemency
They're disappointed in me

One ends up speared on a tree and sits deflated like a used
Rubber but the lovers never finished, they just both agreed to
Give up and go home and sit deflated like a dead dog
The first boy met the man of the cloth
Turn it off

Clean and warm
Shameless

What becomes of our second player?
The other primate?
The other sister of the mountain?
To whom shall you answer?


As I sit plotting graphs
One great hand appears through a newly formed hole
In the door, and I, no more afraid
Politely ask the vast incumbent for a pencil

The moon on the man and his foot can get to fuck, sir
The moon of a man and his foot can get to fuck, sir
The emptiness comes with the job
You make me laugh, sir
And soon I will make you laugh too
And maybe cry

Where the A66 used to be
Under a bridge made of car parts and petrified trees
Nobody loved you
Stupid
Don′t know how to speak
Spit on all your mistakes
The moon on the man on his fucking foot will become

Pieces and pieces of people existing as ideas
Sustained by consideration
Otherwise formless in eternal context
A minor variation
Seemingly a waste of time
But actually not


For the sake of your short life
I would probably say don't bother
I am your brother
You can trust me
There is hope for all of us

I told you I would make you laugh