Belle Glade Missionaries Teclado

	  


F# 
Bell Glade missionaries are here to steal your cocaine, 
                                Bm7 
You better send your malaria to puncture their brains and, 
                             F# 
Send them back to where they came from. 
D         D/C#        D/C           F#7 
Send them back to the savannas of disease. 

From your first psychotic episode to your drug-induced schizophrenia, 
It's your dysphoric mania that makes you so likable, 
And everybody wanna save you. 
Save you just for themself. 
   
                Ebm                            C# 
They're letting children get blown up in their schools today 
            Ebm                      C# 
So they can get them back into their factories 
             Bbm                         E     A 
You know it pains me to see you all being so betrayed 
      Abm                                    C#       
But I guess you'll never know, so it doesn't matter 
        C#7 
Doesn't matter! 

My fever must be high because these bitter winter winds, 
Have made the bones in my jaw go hollow, 
And there's a sense that there's a prowler on the prairie. 
Leaving hair on the walls. 

We helped to flatten the sounds that bound down Dolores Street, 
And my greatest fear released, 
Into someone else's consciousness and now it's theirs to contend with. 
Ah, but still there's these razors to pretend with. 

They're letting children get blown up in their schools today, 
So they can get them back into their factories. 
You know it pains me to see you all being so deceived, 
But I guess you'll never know, so it doesn't matter. 



Fm 
I have a sense you want to be, 
    Eb  
The female Henry Miller, 
            Bbm 
Cynically referring to your lovers as your pricks and, 
           C# 
Exploiting other people's madness. 


On Nexus you claimed to have called out to me, 
Telepathically through all archaic mediums, 
But I never once heard you, so, 
I think you were just lying again. 

I feel like I've been Becket's Molloy'd, 
Like something nature people avoid, 
Like all my talent's been destroyed, 
Like I'm a para-spectral voice, 
With no choices at the present. 
Still there's a value in things unpleasant. 
Well, you post naked GIFs of your epileptic fits, 
And keep track of your hits and your friends don't give a shit, 
And view your fugues with amusement. 
All the evil in the universe, 
There are no victims, only participants. 

They're letting children get blown up in their schools today, 
So they can get them back into their factories. 
You know it pains me to see you all being so betrayed, 
But I guess you'll never know, so it doesn't matter. 
Doesn't matter! 

F# 
Can't trust my instincts lately, 
They don't feel organic. 
They feel more synthetic, 
They feel more synthetic, 
More synthetic, 
Synthetic, 
Synthetic. 

F#