Snooze Button, Gruesome Features

[Snooze Button] Verse 1 [Jam Baxter] He slept through it, bled fluids Sank in it and swam to sea Dreaming of his killer, sticking stings in his hands and feet Sharpening the tangled teeth, twist them round his jaw liner Skewered every organ, glued loosely to his warped spine His self-seared griddled skin seems seamless Never dazzled by their flashing LED Jesus But the grainy jets of pressure spewing from a squeezed fetus Sandblasted every sleepless second from the sea creatures We, the undersigned, slumbered on the underside of HMS Slash-and-Burn Sailing through the troubled sky Face-up in some swamp as millions of jungle flies slide down our nails Curling ever longer up the vines Electric blue dagger sliced his head in two And now he's half asleep, and half ejected in a petting zoo Losing count of countless hopping sheep that never let him through Screaming, 'We'd be better off beheading you.' Guess it's true Verse 2 [Jam Baxter] I slept through it, let's do it Fill me in in four minutes Spend the fifth spewing disbelief until my fourth Guinness What do you mean, 'it's all finished'? Fucking backstabbers Which gang of youths slashed my hammock cut from bandannas? Haphazard, hazy figure drifting in the warm brine He left forty winking widows on the shoreline I swore blind I never tasted evil as I stand covet Then they saw the keys to Hell, gleaming in my back pocket [What are these?] Ah, nothing I'm above suspicion, was I dreaming, drunk, propping up the pub with double vision? 'Till fate brought a pile of files plundered from a sunken prison Every unforgiven act was cataloged and numbered in them [Look me up.] He said it with the kind of crumpled arrogance reserved for every squashed sack of scum that runs the battlements And that was it Top board, chloroform, belly flop, trust You'll have found a bed of tenners when that penny drops Verse 3 [Jam Baxter] I slept through it, bet you it backfires later Snoozing on the circle line, tapped by a stranger 'I think you missed your stop,' he said, pointing at the carbon dust Trust me, I couldn't yam the tramadol fast enough Parking up the spy plane, puking on the dashboard And cutting bits of ultra out the engine with a hacksaw Is routine procedure when you're scratching at the backdoor To every nightmarish situation you could plan for I think I saw it aura, start to end Must have steamrolled my damn face across the stars again I should have circled every murder merchant with a marker pen So when they don a mask and start charging we can laugh at them Oh well, next time Just hold this tonne of filth I'm still reeling off the cascades of multicoloured silks Just the moldy-covered guilt for the twisted little glutton I got a fist full of minutes when his finger hit the button [Gruesome Features] [Jam Baxter] Sitting on the edge of it all, pressed to the wall Marinating in some sick, sweet sauce evaporating These patterns changing, faster than the ill-painted, ill-faces Littered all upon them, watch him build cages Tick, basic installation, lifetimes of information's Stored on the blemish of this illustration Ripped invitations, littered in a little basement 'Please attend a crash course in fitting into his equation' Televised mission statement The red eye reduction can't quell the dark crimson irises behind the sunken sockets Not a knife to cut them Red hot, giant mushrooms, handshakes all round High five, fine eruption, hide in London's undercurrents Love to love them, learn to leave them One singular sun blushed, eternal season Reeling into distant futures, fingers of forgotten ages Prised off the shiny, newer models, confiscated Fetch them at the end Pixelated God's telescopic lenses, sitting taking shots The great grand electric killers never knock Apart from when they're sure you'll let them in and let them cotch Let them off They're all just naturalised, clandestine movements that tranquilise mutants That sat inside, eulogise yourself And if you're speechless, it speaks for itself Deleted in a scream and a squelch I sit in a circle where I filed a thousand solaces Cycle spinning on a ship Once I was an honest kid, office in the sky, house inspectors from the suited age Who are they? Answer's on a postcard, but who can say? Take these, two a day Have a lolly, shutup Of course you ate the pavement kid, you had a shoddy run-up Drug up any wide-eyed, long of the tooth, crew of dreamers Grin as the ballistic missiles shoot them through their gruesome features