Closing your eyes you make a parade Of ulcers on your soul it's your pride Your harmony with yourself Is an unprecedented perversion The collective unconsciousness Gives birth to ones like you p**nomechanoids, automatic satisfiers, Ruining love and life in their basis p**nomechanoid, You are a cuspidor for idle feelings spits, Conveyor packing rotten gifts in an attractive wrapper p**nomechanoid, You've trifled away your soul, Exchanged it for small change and left On the floor in public John I feel no more pain and regret Observing these daily fallings I have an appointment with irresponsible «self» X-ray in use - do not enter! I bring up peaceful indifference in myself p**nomechanoid, A cheap winding toy Who cares what you feel? Come round! You'll be thrown out as soon as battery exhausts!