Bread And Circuits - Bretton Woods lyrics

The art of war behind closed doors, Bretton Woods, 1944. To liberalize the flow of lies and white noise information their contingency, I believe to bleed us like economies. We failed to realize this, the devils internalized the occupation. If I swallow something evil stick your fingers down my throat. I can't recall the faces of names, but I manage to know where to place the blame. Their vast array of weaponry, deployment or diplomacy, the trilateral pillars of international financial k**ers. Their brutality, I concede, tempered with cool efficiency for sarin gas and shot gun blasts, leave imprecise incisions to dislocate the act from our actions. The careful hands of d**h's technicians. Pixilate the debate, replicate our lives, a facsimile. Such a horribly beautiful rendition. Their alien tongue rolls off our lips like bits of binary code. We failed to recognize, the devils digitized the conversation. If I swallow something evil stick your hands down my throat. Shattered hearts and broken hands, all part of the plan, all part of their plans.