Letras
With primitive ablution
Like a hobbyist of deranged proportion
Oh, the win is yours; we've failed again
The fleshy existence you keep to yourself is secure
We are magnificent machineries of joy
We are magnificent machineries of joy
Machines of joy, and then some
Machines of joy, and then some
You are a vision of extraordinary contortion
An athletic form of warm distortion
And the triumph's yours; we lose again
The fleshy existence you keep to yourself is secure
We are magnificent machineries of joy
We are magnificent machineries of joy
Machines of joy, and then some
Machines of joy, and then some
You are a vision (vision)
You are a vision (vision)
You are a vision (vision)
You are a vision (vision)
So tell me what he said, it doesn't really matter
Just tell me what he said, and I don't really care
It's only what he said, and we can make it better
Tell me what he said, though I don't really care
Help is on the way
Help is on the way
Help is on the way, we all know
It's a kind of vision (vision)
It's a kind of, it's a kind of
It's a kind of vision (vision)
Vision (vision)
We are magnificent machineries of joy
We are magnificent machineries of joy
The fleshy existence you keep to yourself is secure