“Lazy Flies”

Lazy flies all hovering above, the magistrate puts on his gloves
And he looks to the clouds all pink and disheveled
There must be some blueprint, some creed of the devil inscribed in our minds
A hideous game vanishes in the air, the vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there to sweep the debris?
To harness dead horses, to ride in the sun
A life of confessions written in the dust

Out in the mangroves, the myna birds cry
In the shadows of sulphur, the trawlers drift by
They’re chewing dried meat in a house of disrepute
The dust of opiates and syphillis patients on brochure vacations
Fear has a glare that traps you like searchlights
The puritans stare, their souls are flourescent
The skin of a robot vibrates with pleasure
Matrons and gigolos carouse in the parlor
Their hand-grenade eyes invalid and blind

A hideous game vanishes in thin air, the vanity of slaves
Who wants to be there to sweep the debris?
To harness dead horses, to ride in the sun
A life of confessions written in the dust

Written by Beck. Appears on the album Mutations.