See You at the Show Songtext

I'm getting onto this new vibe so vague it could be anything at all
The vibe is that you don't know what the vibe is
Try and pull me close but my ghost just floats

Not all there, not all there

Haunt you with disappearance
Haunt you with reappearance
Haunt you with appearances
Suck in the whole city with the strobe effect of my new vibe,
Never never kneel never go down
But I swallow everything I make you give me

You make me love, you make the love, you make the love
You produce the love
But it's mine because I own the factory
You work for me, you work for me, you work for me

I'm getting onto this new vibe
The obsolete version of charlie looker is dead in a bathtub Charlie looker '07 owns the dance floor
Cats aren't even ready for my new vibe

I've got my hood up
Kids act like you know
See you at the show
You better fan out, fan out over the abyss
If you want to make the hang with my childish kiss
Tell the booker that the looker he knows cut his own skinny wrists
But his rad new ghost is on the list
See you at the show

So light, so light
I hover silent while the world spills its guts,
Even as I spit the truth,
Even as I spit my little factoids
They hurtle at you so fast they burn up into lies,
That's how a real man rolls
A real man harnesses the powers of the feminine and descends upon new york as a diffuse even mist

Subterfuge subterfuge subterfuge subterfuge

The power of being jive
The power of the possibility that this might be jive
This might be jive, this might be jive

I'm going out,
I'm going out and I'm leaving that morbid shit at home
I let it stuck down the drain I'm lighter now,
I'm lighter now
From now on my blood won't spill it will just bead into little pools and slide playfully across my baroque surface,
Forget about the dead kid
Forget about the bummin' blood red kid
Sucked deep in the earth from real weight
Disappeared
Last log-in: more than three weeks,
Look directly at the face of looker '07
In its shadowless immanence and go blind in my sunglasses,

I've got my hood up
Kids act like you know
See you at the show

You better fan out, fan out over the abyss
If you want to make the hang with my childish kiss
Tell the booker that the looker he knows cut his own skinny wrists
But his rad new ghost is on the list
See you at the show

Sha-sha, sha--sha-sha-sha-sha-sha-sha
That's the sound of the truth becoming a lie

I don't want a thing what do you want?
I don't want a thing what do you want?
I don't want a thing
I don't have a deal drain the real shallow in my fallow cunt