Dear God, 

The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered. 

Despite his newly installed, varnished brain, and being

force-fed gallons of viscous demented liquor, he is 

determined to obtain the new drone spiders' trophy. 

He dreams of becoming the scorpion who never sweats. 

Quite frankly i'm sickened to have this individual infiltrate

my headspace. 

He talks of lascivious laughs haunting his every second

as the clock spits, clicks, and time speeds by in the 

form of a neon snake. 

Massive delusions? 

Very probably. 

I fear for my safety. 

He is as weak as his fellow man. 

I am now surrounded by hypocrites, liars, drunks, 

clowns, fools, sycophants and the desperate. 

I insist we barter with the moon to sell the patients

cohesive lyrical maps in exchange for a vision of the

future. 

Stricken with grief, I have no choice but to turn to lethal

toxins 

Hardcore Punk Paste. 

Allstars takin' over... 



Early draft of lyrics taken from Radio 1 Breezeblock DJ set 

Dear God, 

The patient's best intentions have sadly faltered. 

It has of late become apparent, he's driven by lust and

he's as weak as his fellow colleagues. 

A hypocrite, surrounded by liars and bed-wetters. 

Stricken with grief, he turns to lethal toxins, hardcore

Punk Paste. 

Goodbye Lord 

Allstars takin over...