"Shower Door"  Parental Advisory genre: Rock
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	a steamy place where vicious, unrestrained creatures attack, tail-by-tail, in the form of fractured ideas; moisture permeating the brain, scrubbing thoughts.
	CD: Satori-cal Dharma   Label: Scone and Tazo Industribot Manufacturing Credits: Copyright Mobile Feast Utopia, 2003.
	Story Behind the Song when in the shower, one's thoughts are interrupted repeatedly by the flow of beaded jets of water spattering against the tile floor like a strobe light shattering the darkness every other millisecond. steam envelopes and saturates the cloudy-glass door in the same manner as it does the mind. the only thoughts that can survive the onslaught are the purely synthetic; whimsical, charded, and border-line maniacal. the language of cleanliness shudders through one's viscera, speaking only to the affection of the bowels. and from the other side of the shower door's cloudy glass, the spectacle is all the more confusingly oblique. Lyrics Verse 1: You got ribbons in your jukebox, baby but you still flow to the river. Prechorus 1: I want to control glass-blowing-room explosions inside a rock oh my! finger cap-guns alread- to lick shots at the fast one; flash working king (yeah, you always knew your way you've just two words to say but the dogs come out today to crack your face) Verse 2: You don't want to see me in my cattle stage but, you ain't got the guts to use the battle egg I know I could beat you in that cheap-ass cage you bes' stop believin' you are all the rage wake up, dip your feet in ink and turn the page 'cause I seen worse desserts made by a bio-phage look into my eyes and tell me what you're paid then go talk to Broof and get up off my case you should know by now that I will whip your ace so, jus' talk to the foot 'cause you don't want the face don't like the way I rock, get out the way! what's that you say?! Chorus: Glass soaked in steam Senses redeemed Skin becoming clean Soap feeds it seems Mist in the eye Suds flowing by Water must die Towel starts to dry Verse 3: Ice-wielded skin yield dusting a baby-powder basement throw-rug runway flying into a cliff of Greek box-sheets comforters into the columns of jipedo soles Prechorus 2: Crayons got yo' back finger-paints and smack clogs set to attack, clappin' the glue of another pre-schoola stack of cards fo' a black day, ink-blots in a whack way; rearranging stocks and bonds with building-blocks and swans (Hey, you know you've got to flee you're drifting out to sea the dogs came back to me and I set them free) (Chorus) Interlude: There is an eight hour showing of the clock at the drive-in, day after chrismus. Green-flesh bugs open their decore love, drop a line--a version of robots tin--all up in your mantlepiece and your leg-slicing fishnets just seconds before chrismus. Prechorus 3: You got the clorox, the mops, the rabbid socks, rags and bags, purple stags waitin' fo' da drop! Betta keep yo' catches 'n' matches in a salmonella-stained memory game so kids won't find out which cold, rainbow-robbin' suit to blame! (Chorus) Outro: When the black sweater, white collar of a people looks jar-clear, open another! Spoi-mo

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