Swing Through The Apocalypse Listen to that static sound Like a prickle on your mind It’s the sound of paranoia Scratching at the end of time Visions of dead animals In a sea of oil and rust Expanding hills of plastic With a brownish yellow crust I need to get a breakdown To escape this mental funk Scraps of paper in my pocket Say “In God We Trust” and junk It looks like the sky is falling There is a crack in everything The end of the world is coming soon That’s why we gotta swing Swing through the Apocalypse That’s the treatment I prescribe Amongst the reams of twisted metal We’ll be shaking our fat jive Get groovy as your bones break And your flesh melts from your hands Pull the switch and execute For one last sacred dance There’s no escaping nature Our grim fates are intertwined Wrapped around society Like a tangled mass of vines You can say you ain’t mad at it As you have your final fling The whole damn world is burning down That’s why we gotta swing © Copyright The Limit Club 2011