The Bitter Glamour of the Heavenly Panorama

by The Crashing Falcon

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released December 10, 2004

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Track Name: Assemble the Plague
Behold, the walking dead; they bought the home-made meth;
Another wait at the corner store...
Indeed, the walking dead.
Behold the walking dead;
They tithe the steeple high unaware of what they fund.
Angels cry and abandon sky above the town you sold out,
Selling it soul by soul to chemical dependency
and for what?! New rims and a sun room?!
Behold your walking dead.
The exploding labs light their path as they assemble.
The swarm you'll swear you never meant for.
Behold, your walking dead...
Track Name: Reign of the United Snakes
Keep them in office to keep the monopolies.
Cut off the the hand that steals from the corporate companies as the corporates keep stealing from the common.
A red tape entanglement;
Futile to fight a feudal government. (Almost)
Don't Vote (and the thieves get in).
Vote (and they get in anyway)
And beyond borders, it's just a board game...
A billion dollar high roller at RISK...
serpent's path in the sand busy swallowing the "holy" land;
Red, white, & blue business card: Bombing is our business!!!
See her torch and her crown; see her lift up her gown.
For the right dollar amount, her virtues are our virtues.
I pledge allegiance (diseases) to the scam,
the monument of the damned..
Understanding cabinet math which has killed the least Americans?
Terrorist attacks or cancer?
Guess we'll fry the small fish first.
When our vote doesn't count, count on us to go for broke.
Track Name: Magic can only be taken seriously when you're wearing a tuxedo.
Survive this nova, keep the atom from splitting...
Dare me to let go?! No laughing matter.
Perhaps tonight is the last time I'll die for you -
serve you as the magician's assistant...
Your Turn! Get in the box! I'll bring the the saw...
I'll pull the rabbit out of your hat even if it bleeds...
My greatest magic trick was keeping this atom from splitting...
Your greatest magic trick was keeping these from hitting...
The preacher's speech: Bad advice!
Whore label of chords: another false idol!
Stab them with every note: relentless in pursuit!
Does it matter who it touches?
How elegantly it was put?
A trick executed with glory fading...
A brittle structure that is love, only diseased...
Praying until knees bleed for an afterlife:
You are remembering dreams...
I WROTE MY LOVE LETTER WITH A CHICAGO TYPEWRITER,
my grand finale!
Track Name: Disconnecting Constellations
A failing theory on life's purpose: trivialities ( a focus )
For your majority, know this:
6 chambers, 7 bullets...... This job is getting you done.
So hang the whore or hang yourself; a solution worth the ghosts.
We look our best in black and do you realize why?
I went to her funeral to make sure she was dead!
Put on your perfume; tonight is our last stand.
Untrusting kisses at knife point...
A kiss "goodbye" when there's nothing good about it.
As the screw driver enters your chest your chest,
it's the last time I'll make you cry,
as I eat your heart since you wasted mine.
And you will regret your poorly chosen words;
you will regret your poorly chosen actions...
Track Name: Baptism at Boiling Point
With the head of Medusa in one hand and John the Baptist in the other:
They would have wanted it this way.
The stone cold negotiator, the drowner of sin.
Stone the calvary, drown the archer.
Mr. Reagan, now we are the peace makers.
Swinging these heads forth spreading their plagued blood
that ignites what it reaches...
And when I'm through, the earth will be flat again.
Baptized at boiling point, it is cleansed again.
The air no longer polluted with bald eagles.
Cut off their right wings and their left wings.
They fall to the risen ocean.
Those who can do without wings will swim; the rest will sink,
and stone sinks faster.
Yes, Mr. Reagan, now we are the peace makers.