There’s a door in the hallway that is locked from within
And the curious face is such a fountain of sin
When the focusing Iris condenses the space
And the slice of the victim is accrued by the
Face. Celluloid’s burning up because my keyhole matte
Exposes all the filth that dwells behind the door.
That dwells behind the door. That dwells behind the door.
There’s a room in the Pentagon where people decide
How to spin growing numbers of vet suicides.
At least I think it exists because the comfort provided
By conspiracy fantasies will help me
Abide in revealing powers given to me by my keyhole matte
‘Cause I can change the world. Yeah, I can change the world.
I won’t change the world. I think I’ll just lie down.
The waiter’s bored at 3 am in the hotel
And from that fellow’s room a noise begins to swell.
His boredom shreds away at privacy’s resolve
Until he witnesses and yearns to get involved.
I can watch you forever with an editing swipe.
I can change implications by the frames that I type
And I can laugh at the prospect that I’ll never be seen
When I’m framing the footage on the ebony
Screen. Gurgling from the innards of my keyhole matte
Is a solitary man doing something wrong.
Doing something wrong. Doing something wrong.