The walls of half-empty dwellings
are swinging smoothly to the music’s beat;
and the sensations of translocations
is never- ending. So let it be.
Sterilized needles are like tunnels,
the holes in your veins -
the entrance fee into the Foam City.
Hunger, a new kind of hunger,
the shame of simplicity, fears, misgivings
force them into this city.
Oh God, could you grant them forgiveness?
unsterilized needles are like tunnels,
the scabs on your body -
the entrance fee into the Foam City.
O-o-oh...The Foam City...
Leading a life of a mad celebration
the residents jump from the soft, spongy roofs.
And I would’ve slipped into these groovy vibration,
If not for the City of Sound and Pain
that once predetermined my moves.
Rusty needles are like tunnels,
and the dying brain -
the entrance fee into the Foam City.
