ترانه:
Marilyn Manson The Golden Age Of Grotesque

I don't care if your world is ending today Because I wasn't invited to it anyway You said I tasted famous so I drew you a heart But now I'm not an artist

The beauty spot was borrowed Now my sweet life rusts tomorrow I'm a confession that is waiting to be heard Burn your empty rain down on me Whisper your

is the Golden Age of Grotesque We're the Low Art Gloominati And we aim to depress The Scabaret Sacrilegends This is the Golden Age of Grotesque The

Come on, come on, come on, come on I am overground and outselling it, since God thinks I don't exist The beatings happen per minute This is not blue

Everything has been said before Nothing left to say anymore When it's all the same You can ask for it by name Babble, babble, bitch, bitch Rebel, rebel

I wake up everyday The wrong side of the bed I won't lay down on the floor Like I'm the whore in your head Call me a failure Pretender, sex-offender,

is the Golden Age of Grotesque We're the LOW ART GLOOMINATI And we aim to depress The SCABARET SACRILEGENDS This is the Golden Age of Grotesque The devils

is the Golden Age of Grotesque We're the LOW ART GLOOMINATI And we aim to depress The SCABARET SACRILEGENDS This is the Golden Age of Grotesque The devils

: I am overground and Out-selling IT. Since God thinks I don't exist The Beatings happen Per Minute This is not Blue-collar-white-corrective politics