Mr. Blessington's Imperialist Plot Lyrics

pretty patricia was a nervous wreck
deadened by the darvocet
furnished by a charlatain
posing as a pharmacist

propped behind a pearly desk
she wears the phone with burdened breath
and hands she holds for reasons wanton
is the whilring dervish games

this is just the receptionist
the skeletons and hallowed halls number of every word
could be buzzing right through the sunny comb

and I am just a lonely drone
with a notepad and a picture phone
whose nectar is a collection of transgressions and subversive flaws

darrell's darling carries all of hr on his back
Can only hide gisette because the fetish waftings of croquettes

Well mrs darla's down the hall
She keeps a watchful eye
Its on accounts receivable
Leaving it blind to the concubine

Lady darla's not the cleanest
grape inside the crops
She keeps her eyes inside accountants
as she skims right off the top

her saccharine little skins of cream
she sneaks out in her hosiery
to hopefully she pumps the petty plunder in the slots

every now and then
the best laid plans of mice and men
fall apart at hands
of unassuming champions
collecting all the dirt
to build a tower to the sky
slaving in this basement
one day this will all be mine
one day this will all be mine
one day this will all be mine

she was so outwardly nonpareil
I was enraptured by the act
Of cracking her seamless shell
Catching esteban with hand in his till is muy facil
But this girl's skills are past the run of the mill

We command with abandon the plot
Take what he got
setting up shop with a cloud 8 view at the top
And everybody's got bones
Hers are harder to spot
With her appointments pinned down and her hair done up

Devote everything that I've got
To stalking her box
Theres got to be a fracture in her porcelain plot
That's where I slipped up
Lost in her wash
She doubled back upon her tracks and caught me off guard

She's impossibly smart
I am defeated at my own game
Caught me collecting dirt
To blackmail them for my own gain

A tower made of dirt
Is just a castle built from glass
And a pocket full of stones until the last one's cast

every now and then
the best laid plans of mice and men
fall apart at hands
of unassuming champions
collecting so much dirt
that I was buried down alive
slaving in this basement
til the day I die
til the day I die
til the day I die