American Psycho - This is not an exit!

Full Song, metalcore, industrial metal, aggressive male vocals

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I check the seams, the sheen, the text.
Business lunch, gym tan, wondering what is next.
“I have all the characteristics of a human being
FLESH! BLOOD! SKIN! HAIR! 
but not a single clear emotion for the seeing.”
Except the need to keep moving, to escape.
I have to return some videotapes.

This is not an exit!
This is not an exit!
This is not an exit, it’s a beautifully designed cell!
The card says it plain, the room says it back.
A clean line, a clean suit...
A clean defect.
We are burning...
IN A CORPORATE HELL!
This is not an exit!

Huey Lewis and the News.
Early work, a little too new wave for my taste, I refuse.
Then the surface settles—polish, glass, detail.
A reservation, a raincoat, a smile turning pale.
The city stays blank, expensive, and cold.
“Try getting a reservation at Dorsia... before you get old.”

Valentino lines covered in fresh red spray!
The ice pack melts as I carve the meat away!
Silian Rail card stuffed in her dead mouth!
No trace in the grain, turning the stomach inside out!
Bone-bright! Bone-white! Real bone cracks!
Smiling through the skull with a chrome-plated axe!

There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, a ghost in the claw!
A composite of skin and status, lacquer and law!
But the idea is only that: an arrangement of lies!
Immaculate, untrue, behind these hollow eyes!
“There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction.”
And the abstraction is drowning in blood, screaming for action!
Feed me a stray cat! The ATM demands it!

This is not an exit!
This is not an exit!
I gave the room my face; it gave me back a void!
The clock has run out of its breath!
The watermark... is a guillotine of death!
This is not an exit! Everything is destroyed!
Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now!
Die! (die!)

A perfect tie.
A blank stare.
A place setting.
Nothing behind it.
Just the surface.
Just the name.
Just the exit... that isn’t there.
Die! 
A perfect tie.
A blank stare.
A place setting.
Nothing behind it.
Just the surface.
Just the name.
Just the exit... that isn’t there.

2431/7500

Valentino light. White noise. A perfect face. Razor-cut tailoring; leaving no human trace. Silian Rail, bone-white paper, the name on a card. No depth in the grain, no mercy in the gloss... SO HARD! The discipline of surfaces, the terror beneath the skin. “I simply am not there.” Let the dinner ritual begin. Yet hunger keeps its place... at the table. To feel anything at all... I am unable. I check the seams, the sheen, the text. Business lunch, gym tan, wondering what is next. “I have all the characteristics of a human being FLESH! BLOOD! SKIN! HAIR! but not a single clear emotion for the seeing.” Except the need to keep moving, to escape. I have to return some videotapes. This is not an exit! This is not an exit! This is not an exit, it’s a beautifully designed cell! The card says it plain, the room says it back. A clean line, a clean suit... A clean defect. We are burning... IN A CORPORATE HELL! This is not an exit! Huey Lewis and the News. Early work, a little too new wave for my taste, I refuse. Then the surface settles—polish, glass, detail. A reservation, a raincoat, a smile turning pale. The city stays blank, expensive, and cold. “Try getting a reservation at Dorsia... before you get old.” Valentino lines covered in fresh red spray! The ice pack melts as I carve the meat away! Silian Rail card stuffed in her dead mouth! No trace in the grain, turning the stomach inside out! Bone-bright! Bone-white! Real bone cracks! Smiling through the skull with a chrome-plated axe! There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, a ghost in the claw! A composite of skin and status, lacquer and law! But the idea is only that: an arrangement of lies! Immaculate, untrue, behind these hollow eyes! “There is an idea of a Patrick Bateman, some kind of abstraction.” And the abstraction is drowning in blood, screaming for action! Feed me a stray cat! The ATM demands it! This is not an exit! This is not an exit! I gave the room my face; it gave me back a void! The clock has run out of its breath! The watermark... is a guillotine of death! This is not an exit! Everything is destroyed! Try getting a reservation at Dorsia now! Die! (die!) A perfect tie. A blank stare. A place setting. Nothing behind it. Just the surface. Just the name. Just the exit... that isn’t there. Die! A perfect tie. A blank stare. A place setting. Nothing behind it. Just the surface. Just the name. Just the exit... that isn’t there.

0/500