We're of primitive abolution Like a hobbyist of deranged proportion Or the wait is yours and we’ve failed again The fleshy existance you keep to yourself, Is secure We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy Machines of joy, and then some Machines of joy, and then some You are a vision of extraordinary contortion An athletic form of warm distortion And the triumph's yours, we lose again The fleshy existence you keep to yourself, Is secure We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy Machines of joy, and then some Machines of joy, and then some You are a vision, you are a vision, a vision Tell me what he said, it doesn’t really matter Just tell me what he said, and I don’t really care It’s only what he said, We can make it better Tell me what he said, no I don’t really care Help is on the way, help is on the way Help is on the way, we all know It's a kind of vision, it's a kind of (x2) it's a kind of vision. We are magnificent machineries of joy We are magnificent machineries of joy
