Sangtekst: Bad Religion. Generator. Chimaera.

you took a time bomb,
and a case of crackers,
and you made a maelstrom of organic debris,
then you took a work bench,
and a rusty anvil,
and you polished them for everyone to see,
you have created an unhealthy monster,
but you're nowhere but nowhere to be found,
so I guess I'll just cope with my provisions,
from now until the day they lay me down
you took a baboon,
and made him perfect,
you took a lion,
and stripped him of his pride,
then you took a million more varieties,
a scalpel and a sartory,
and you stitched up a horrible surprise,
you have created an unsocial monster,
and you're searched for all over the globe,
and most believe that things would sure be better,
if you'd come down here and tell us what you know
who is to blame for this?
someone tell me please,
his handiwork is flawed,
and it's there for all to see,
mutations, aberrations and blatant anomalies,
they multiply and give rise to this . . . monstrosity,
you took the most abundant smallest bits of matter,
and you instilled them with affinity,
and then you stratified accumulations,
weeded out bad variations,
and blended up your unique recipe,
you have created a powerful monster,
with direction and purpose all its own,
and if you were here,
would things be any different?
or are you just a mosaic of thoughts alone?