Cult Fiction.

Another band song.

Do you need a helping hand,
Walking through this promised land,
Do you need another hit,
Another chance to score.
Would you like a Kleenex Miss,
To dry your brow and wipe your lips,
Would you like my protege to show you how its done.

All you need is practice making perfect, perfect practicing,
All you need is substinance and substance,
Try it, use it, need it, want it, breath the toxins in and out,
Let the paranoia take you over.

Do you need a helping hand,
Walking through this promised land,
Do you need another hit,
Another chance to score.
Would you like a Kleenex Miss,
To dry your brow and wipe your lips,
Would you like a protege to show you how its done.
Do you want injections fast,
Dont tell Marcel about that last,
You nearly died right here tonight,
Careless but for the laughs.
Would you like a cancer stick,
To calm your nerves and end it quick,
But now you're thinking through and through,
God's not here to help you.

All you need is practice making perfect, perfect practicing,
All you need is substinance and substance,
Try it, use it, need it, want it, breath the toxins in and out,
Let the paranoia take you over.

Drunk confusion warping your mind,
Helping you through all your bad times,
Walking you through all of your sins,
Crushing all of your
Hopes and feelings wearing thin now,
Silences becoming so loud,
Paranoia taking over,
Murdering your soul.

Intoxicated lover's weep,
Control your mouth before you speak,
Let the China take you over,
Smash you to the floor.
Your breakfast served, reflective glass,
You lick it up, the poison's passed,
A wax musuem with a pulse,
Your life's no fantasy.