EPISODE · Dec 29, 2025 · 5 MIN
Neon Rain
from FRED STZ MUSIC · host FRED STZ
The children are sketching perfect cities on the backs of their eyelids... Their fingers are clean... their maps are traced in gold leaf and possibility... Before they learn the street has another name... We were architects of ether, builders of the dawn With compass hearts and chemical bonds, before the veil was drawn We saw the cracks in empires, in the sermons and the sales A holiness in concrete, where the true communion fails Then came the sweet physician, with his needle and his creed A private apocalypse, a solitary deed To suture up the fracture with a liquid, silver thread And drink the century's sickness straight into the head And we saw Saint Junkie walking through the heart of the null His kindness was a poison, his surrender beautiful We felt the world die gently in our veins, a sacred flood A terminal communion, mixing blood and dirty mud The Control Machine stutters... its data streams run red Our bodies are the broadcast of what the prophets said A final, fixed inoculation against the living lie To exit from the market with a ticket through the eye... The paradise of scabs, the algebra of need A thousand televisions playing out the silent deed We are the naked lunch laid bare upon the page The price the real demands before it turns another age And we saw Saint Junkie walking through the heart of the null His kindness was a poison, his surrender beautiful We drank the world's last sunset from a warm and rusty spoon And scheduled our ascension for a silent afternoon The shot is the prayer... The rush is the revelation... The overdose is the only logical conclusion to a life of unvarnished input... A saint is just a casualty who knows his own name...
What this episode covers
The children are sketching perfect cities on the backs of their eyelids... Their fingers are clean... their maps are traced in gold leaf and possibility... Before they learn the street has another name... We were architects of ether, builders of the dawn With compass hearts and chemical bonds, before the veil was drawn We saw the cracks in empires, in the sermons and the sales A holiness in concrete, where the true communion fails Then came the sweet physician, with his needle and his creed A private apocalypse, a solitary deed To suture up the fracture with a liquid, silver thread And drink the century's sickness straight into the head And we saw Saint Junkie walking through the heart of the null His kindness was a poison, his surrender beautiful We felt the world die gently in our veins, a sacred flood A terminal communion, mixing blood and dirty mud The Control Machine stutters... its data streams run red Our bodies are the broadcast of what the prophets said A final, fixed inoculation against the living lie To exit from the market with a ticket through the eye... The paradise of scabs, the algebra of need A thousand televisions playing out the silent deed We are the naked lunch laid bare upon the page The price the real demands before it turns another age And we saw Saint Junkie walking through the heart of the null His kindness was a poison, his surrender beautiful We drank the world's last sunset from a warm and rusty spoon And scheduled our ascension for a silent afternoon The shot is the prayer... The rush is the revelation... The overdose is the only logical conclusion to a life of unvarnished input... A saint is just a casualty who knows his own name...
NOW PLAYING
Neon Rain
No transcript for this episode yet
Similar Episodes
No similar episodes found.