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!"