I'm getting onto this new vibeSoak up your ever intention like tampaxReflect it back like a bitch's compactBlue eyes shine never mind the heart is matte blackPitches slip off harmony like fingernails off of my glistening backThis is my new incarnationYou'll see it at shows and parties in '07A smooth and affable specter of my former selfHaunt you with my new vibeHaunt you with my new-found heathI'm getting onto this new vibe so vague it could be anything at allThe vibe is that you don't know what the vibe isTry and pull me close but my ghost just floatsNot all there, not all thereHaunt you with disappearanceHaunt you with reappearanceHaunt you with appearancesSuck in the whole city with the strobe effect of my new vibeNever never kneel never go downBut I swallow everything I make you give meYou make me love, you make the love, you make the loveYou produce the loveBut it's mine because I own the factoryYou work for me, you work for me, you work for meI'm getting onto this new vibeThe obsolete version of charlie looker is dead in a bathtubCharlie looker '07 owns the dance floorCats aren't even ready for my new vibeI've got my hood upKids act like you knowSee you at the showYou better fan out, fan out over the abyssIf you want to make the hang with my childish kissTell the booker that the looker he knows cut his own skinny wristsBut his rad new ghost is on the listSee you at the showSo light, so lightI hover silent while the world spills its gutsEven as I spit the truthEven as I spit my little factoidsThey hurtle at you so fast they burn up into liesThat's how a real man rollsA real man harnesses the powers of the feminine and descends upon new york as a diffuse even mistSubterfuge subterfuge subterfuge subterfugeThe power of being jiveThe power of the possibility that this might be jiveThis might be jive, this might be jiveI'm going outI'm going out and I'm leaving that morbid shit at homeI let it stuck down the drain I'm lighter nowI'm lighter nowFrom now on my blood won't spill it will just bead into little pools and slide playfully across my baroque surfaceForget about the dead kidForget about the bummin' blood red kidSucked deep in the earth from real weightDisappearedLast log-in: more than three weeksLook directly at the face of looker '07In its shadowless immanence and go blind in my sunglassesI've got my hood upKids act like you knowSee you at the showYou better fan out, fan out over the abyssIf you want to make the hang with my childish kissTell the booker that the looker he knows cut his own skinny wristsBut his rad new ghost is on the listSee you at the showSha-sha, sha--sha-sha-sha-sha-sha-shaThat's the sound of the truth becoming a lieI don't want a thing what do you want?I don't want a thing what do you want?I don't want a thingI don't have a deal drain the real shallow in my fallow cunt
