Bats flew up from the hell of house in the flames of a tribe Where the social lights bleed in the mixtly breed They are names with a clutch Alien parts been the proper nest with the lost and strenuous gang slips Still they know cake and the shop they hate To hear Faust explaining his hot lips Bow behind the cellular line Beneath the noise and counter words See them come and see them hide They whisper songs down to the sides, alright 3xAh alright