Lyrics by Markky Karloff.
Dedicated to Kyle J. Leahy. R.I.P.
lyrics
Hey there, prisoner, where's your cape,
When your life melts down from it's silver plate,
There's a face in the mirror, but it's not yours,
Your friend with the scalpel made damn sure,
The incisions were precise, but your heart's inside,
And there's hell to pay as a regular guy,
Yes, the surgeon may have slashed your clothes,
But you're the one that made yourself alone,
You are the one, that's what she said,
When you painted a target upon your head,
When doctor's had her fun, you're gonna die alone,
She'll seal the hole that was once your head,
It'll be alright 'cause that's what she said,
When doctor's had her fun, you're gonna die alone,
Hey, parasite, what's that smell?
Is it our franken-bitch friend that you've sent to hell?
The respectable being that I used to know?
I wonder where that man did go,
Shattered by what you're told to be,
Flush the toilet on your nearby dreams,
While doc shits atop and you smell your life,
Wiped from the ass of what will be your wife,
You are the one, that's what she said,
When you painted a target upon your head,
When doctor's had her fun, you're gonna die alone,
She'll seal the hole that was once your head,
It'll be alright 'cause that's what she said,
Now doctor's had her fun and you're gonna die alone,
Operation, you're gonna die alone,
Operation, you're gonna die alone,
Operation, you're gonna die alone,
Operation, you're gonna fucking die alone,
The Prople play great music. Generally, as their tunes grace mortal existence, talent overflows the world, beginning at their fingertips and ending at your eye sockets, ideally dodging your ears.
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Electropunk love songs about long torsos by creatures who lurk between the crevices... The Experience is the unfiltered soundtrack to existence in sum. The Prople
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