Thirty-six miscarriages, waiting for their fate

He'll set 'em up for another birth

So they'll spread, his seed and his name

Geometry is an art, and an art is a faith, seein'

Lines and angles and lines and angles and lines of angles 'cause lines are angels but

Some angels are good and some angels are bad

And this beautiful vision is driving him mad, sing

Father of a geometric vision

Father of an invented religion, invented religion

Motherless children they're motherless children

Their father made love to himself in a dream

And the semen he bled and the seed that he spread

Still wait to be born through the seed that he said

Was the way that his code would survive his own death

Kill all the rest, saw off their heads

Take their nutrition and leave them for dead

'Cause if they can't be born they were born to be bled because

All his life he's

Seen it comin'

Potent, frozen

Waiting, motion

Inevitable like a car crash

Or a bursting damn or volcano

Its just tension and release

Tension and release

And when it all goes down he'll be waiting like a thief with a notary

Public and video tape

Thirty-six failed visions, each with a different face

One sees atoms whose soft masses lie stable but wait like a nuclear bomb

Another sees sex in this motion, sees shapes that sink and disappear and then

Reappear as stars condensed into a single, boiling, pulsing, patient point

They're waiting for a Big Bang

They're waiting for his senses to grasp

The quiet foreplay of the fertile eggs

The barely touching spheres and planes

The slightest friction is a sweet romance

That like any other will corrupt or collide

Thirty-six soft eggs – ripped from the womb and laid on a table

Their tender kisses arouse him, he sees the potential for exploding life

A shaft in a hand, a bullet, a wick

A manual gland, a snare and a kick and a crash

And when it leaves us it keeps us attached

To love is not free but alas

The umbilical leash in our hands

And then we're nothin' but little league dads and military ads

Gettin' our k-k-kids to k-kick some ass

But what would you have done

I said what would you have done

With a gift so damn ambiguous could be an apple or a gun

But it's a horizontal firecracker

Horizontal firecracker

Horizontal firecracker

Horizontal firecracker

You only live once, but you're dying all the time

If you're not gonna have kids why not leave a record behind

Mine is a vinyl baby, being born as we speak

His is a lovely number down in permanent ink

Father of a geometric vision

Father of an invented religion, invented religion