My blacklist: If people don't dance they die   Cathartic hand claps   Dependent on words without sounds   In the bitter end goodbye   Fire paint at the canvas with pistols is our focus, our pride      Give the soliders the drugs and the children hand grenades      The smart kid, the art kid, let's hope he learns to smile   Alarming we're awake and boiling in horror      Petrified pilots climb into their metal wombs   Black revolver valiums   Rather fly than see the derailing trains coast by   Carrying parts for rocket ships   The avant-garde astronomists   Sell maps to the star dust and daydreams