Karaoke for The Church - The DisillusionistThe Church - The Disillusionist (06:24)created by ClintJCL
# A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z Register in order to contribute under your name »» Read karaoke FAQ »» LyricsIn autumn he comes to this townWhen the people's guard is down On a day like today Overcast and gray Bells were all ringing The birds stopped their singing The wind caught in the trees Screaming to be free He alights from the platform In his usual uniform His skin looks like he slept in it Or had something rotten kept in it And snakes stir in the thistles Back of cat's neck bristles 'Round vicious lips, the fur is stained The Disillusionist is back again They say that he's famous from the waist down But the top half of his body is a corpse His gold won't buy him sleep His poverty runs so deep In winter he cracks, in summer he warps Hang around the backstage door But he knows what you're waiting for You rub yourself against his fame Already ready to bear the blame He asks you, "Did you like my show?" As if he really wants to know Then doesn't wait for your reply He just pulls you back inside You've started feeling dizzy It isn't you or is he Persuade you mentally Undresses you incidentally Down the swaying corridor People you feel sorry for But when he puts the gaze on you You're amazed at what you'll let him do They say that he's famous from the waist down But the top half of his body is a corpse His gold won't buy him sleep His poverty runs so deep In winter he cracks, in summer he warps He can turn wine into water Mother against daughter Juggles busy deadlines Gets himself off headlines Surrounded by his minions Who never have opinions Performing little tricks for you Puts it in a fix for you Smashes your watch with a hammer Caresses you with camera And says the magic words That nobody's ever heard Now the slur is fading Reality all-pervading It only makes you want him more It only makes you fawn him more They say that he's famous from the waist down But the top half of his body is a corpse His gold won't buy him sleep His poverty runs so deep In winter he cracks, in summer he warps And he does the Indian rope trick The one that makes you seasick And he keeps on filling up your cup But you keep on filling up And some of it's done with mirrors And some of it's done with scissors And some of it's done with cables And his hands under the table It doesn't matter you want to believe It doesn't matter if you have to leave You won't escape his orbit And the things that you must forfeit And the audience seems familiar Some of them in particular Bet you they are his plants When he plays the games of chance He reads the minds of jilted girls And the story really unfurls Cast a fortune for the man in the suit Who's suffering is very acute There's a rabbit in his hat But I thought I smelled a rat | ||
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