Seven
I'm keeping my commission to faith's transmission
Two speakers dream the same and skies turn red
Satellites flashing down Orchard and Delancey
I can't get laid 'cause everyone is dead
Hey, gold connections
Analog soul waving in your hair
Hey, hylozoic directions
She's talking blue streaks everywhere
Your spirit is time reversed to your body
Stereographic mix up field on field
Started growing up the day your body dies
Only apparently, real to unreal
Hey, stereo stations
Perfect image, kneel down
Hey, hypo-static information
Come on let's hear you turn it around

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