Lazy flies all hovering above
The magistrate he puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds
All pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprints,
Some creed of the devil
Inscribed in our minds
A hideous game
Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust
Out in the mangroves
The mynah birds cry
In the shadows of sulphur
The trawlers drift by
They're chewing dried meat
In a house of disrepute
The dust of opiates
And syphilis patients
On brochure vacations
Fear has a glare that traps you
Like searchlights
The puritans stare
Their souls are fluorescent
The skin of a robot
Vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos
Carouse in the parlor
Their hand grenade eyes
Invalid and blind

Vanishes in thin air
The vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there?
To sweep the debris
To harness dead horses
To ride in the sun
A life of confessions
Written in the dust


Lyrics submitted by Ice, edited by Halicarnassus

Lazy Flies Lyrics as written by Beck Hansen

Lyrics © Kobalt Music Publishing Ltd.

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Lazy Flies song meanings
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    Translation

    MOSCAS PEREZOSAS

    Moscas perezosas se pasean por ahí, el magistrado se pone los guantes y mira las nubes tan rosas y despeinadas, tiene que haber unas huellas, algún credo del demonio inscripto en nuestras mentes...

    Un juego detestable se desvanece en el aire. La vanidad de los esclavos, ¿quién quiere estar ahí para levantar la mierda, para enjaezar caballos muertos, para montar en el sol una vida de confesiones escritas en el polvo...?

    Allá en los manglares las gráculas religiosas lloran. En las sombras de azufre los barcos pesqueros flotan a la deriva mascando carne resecada en una casa de mala reputación, el polvo de los opiáceos y los pacientes sifilosos en vacaciones de paquete turístico.

    El miedo tiene un resplandor que te atrapa como un farol. Los puritanos se quedan mirando (sus almas son fluorescentes). La piel de un robot vibra de placer. Las matronas y los gigolos hablan como borrachos en el porche, sus ojos, como granadas, inválidos y ciegos...

    Un juego detestable se desvanece en el aire. La vanidad de los esclavos, ¿quién quiere estar ahí para levantar la mierda, para enjaezar caballos muertos, para montar en el sol una vida de confesiones escritas en el polvo...?

    wadajoon August 24, 2012   Link

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