TPR Part I

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Postmodern Medicine (2011)
 

The Plastic Revolution –  TPR Part I Lyrics

Ring, Ring,
Check the calling screen,
Everyone was looking up at me,
Everyone looks things are gonna get ugly,
We did five lines at the back of the bus,
There were t-shirts that were printed of us,
As we looked up unsusceptible subjects
And now,
Just here we are,
Just at the mall,
There is no pain there’s either black or white,
You either get it or you never have tried,
You cannot look into my eyes,

And it’s exactly where you know you wanna be,
When all ends justify the means,
It’s exactly where you know you wanna stay always,

I’m unfaithful.
Is it really what you want?
Just think about it talk about it make promises you laughed about so what,
And I’m not mistaking it,
Feed it to you like its cake, make promises I plan to break,
So this time next week you’ll be sleeping soundly next to him,
Like I planned this all along.

And it’s exactly where you know you wanna be,
When all ends justify the means,
It’s exactly where you know you wanna stay always,

Get it off.
I get it off.
When you feel like there’s nothing at all,
I try to eat.
I try to sleep.
And I try to think rationally.
Out into my life,
Out into my night,
And I try and I try to get fucked by you,
I won’t even try.
I spin to my front back look side to side,
You’re front now,
Keep in mind,
Self-conscious mannikin’s all,
Wearing a frown,
Looks like there’s no one else around,
Run to a comfort that has,
Never let you down,
We’ll take all your pain away,
You’ll never be alone.

All my waking life I’d adhered to the advice that in order to truly know happiness a person must truly embrace suffering first. For this very reason I have constantly put myself in harm’s way.  Endeavored to lie, cheat and steal; take a mile when given an inch; stretch a relationship out like a new pair of pants; share my tumultuously private experiences through song; because I believe in vanity humanity and overwhelming calamities happening to the good of people for no good fucking reason. And because of the inherent uncertainty in existence, we grasp at anything we can. Well I say fuck reliability, and fuck that! Let’s bask in it, and celebrate its mystery as postmodern products perplexed in a plastic parameter that permeates every possible parallel…

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