An Orgy of Critics

Sweep the black supermarket
Sweep it up with your teeth
Put your feather in your box, take off! take off!
Send it off to me!
I smell oxygen, precious
Bareback on your horse, gallop off course
Get off, get off, get off, filled with fury's force

There's a fire in the peach pit
A blaze in the snake pit
You erased it, but we saw you fake it
There's blood on the Good Book
Love in the bad brook
Suck out all the nerve and make it yours
There's a fire in the peach pit, in the peach pit—

"You brought me to my knees!
Your art, it brought me to my knees!
Your art it brought me, brought me, you brought me—
Your art it brought me to my knees!"

You're so perfect to please us! You make all the right noise
Get the business clothes off, take off, take off, and strip down to your voice
We will show you your future and choke the air from your world
You can be our once-twice-thrice-four-times-then-goodbye girl

There's a crack in the blank stare
Back in the black raised hair, it's not fair

I don't know who told you that, who told you that
I don't know who told you that, but it's a lie, believe me
I swear I shall not deceive thee

I don't know who sold you that, sold you that
I don't know who sold you that but it's a fake, remind me
My eyes see straight behind me

Never killed nobody, promise you're the first
You always remember, you're first

"You brought me to my knees!
Your art, it brought me to my knees!
Your art it brought me, brought me, you brought me, brought me—
You brought me to my knees!"