Devil's Trident-Telepathe

Everyday dearest orchid find a way and prey and prey and prey Behind the eye's of your sister's portrait Wine wind and pray on the minds Two dearest things One man with a gun and one with an arm It is a basic sensation, No it was a basic sensation, no it is a basic sensation A fantasmata of her mother Don't avoid the straightforward answers but take the cold one with the cold arms Like a megaphone Too painful and no harm Maybe we have a second rate son Superhuman, acknowledged absurd subhuman? Provoke a frenzy in me my love, provoke a frenzy in me, provoke a frenzy in me my love Unconsious and screwed by all Does one expect an afterlife? No, I only wish for the after thrice Hand over with the devil's trident And paint it the orchid because we have a second rate son He's abrupt, rude, and undone Deism at hand Now you know I won't go