Well, appointed instrument,
with which to whittle down the ideas
hunched over a table for millions of years
microscope tools ready
come into the dead vault
come into the dead vault
let go of my hand and it's time to re-equate yourself
the heat is madness
it is quiet where it plays as it sounds
about the arcade, MVC3, Sentinel,
boy, boy,
the stack, the dice are gone, round one, boy!
come into the dead vault,
round two, boy!
porcelain, china cup,
all they've got is their rounds of orders
puddles, masses, sir, the local god of order
oh lord, oh yes, a precise instrument,
a blood object, the will to try
all engines sputtering,
all warm tubes inside