With primitive ablutions
Like a hobbyist of deranged proportion
The win is yours
We failed 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 of extraordinary contortion
An athletic form of warm distortion
The triumph 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
A kind of vision
So tell me what he said
Though it doesn't really matter
Tell me what he said
Though I don't really care
It's only what he said
And we can make it better
Tell me what he said
Though I don't really care
Help is on the way
Help is on the way
Help is on the way
It's a kind of vision
We are magnificent machineries of joy
We are magnificent machineries of joy
The fleshy existence you keep
To yourself is secure