The Gospel of the Shiny Metal Lord

Lyrics

(Verse 1: Fast, palm-muted punk riff)
Launched from a tube like a boozy torpedo
Space is real big, and I’ve got no tuxedo
Drifting alone with a 40-ounce brew
Until a meteor strike brings a tiny new crew
They’re living on my pelvis, they’re worshipping my shins
I’m a reluctant messiah for their microscopic sins!
​(Chorus: Slow, smoky Jazz swing)
Oh, he’s a god now, baby, with a heart of cold alloy
The universe is just his little wind-up toy
From a bending unit to a deity in the sky
He’ll ignore your prayers while he eats a pizza pie
Yeah, it’s lonely at the top when you’re made of 40% zinc
And your followers are dying while you stop to take a drink.
​(Verse 2: Aggressive Post-Punk)
"Make it rain!" they cry, so I give ’em a splash
Now half of the continent is nothing but ash
"Give us some wealth!" so I forge ’em a coin
But it crushes the temple built right on my loin
I tried to be helpful, I tried to be nice
But being a god is like playing craps with loaded dice
They’re fighting a war over how much I suck
While I’m drifting through the void just looking for a buck!
​(Bridge: Free-form Jazz chaos – lots of discordant brass)
Then I met a cloud...
A sparkly, bleeping, sentient nebula cloud.
It sounded like a computer with a soulful ego
It said: "Bender, man, you gotta let the tiny people go."
When you do things right, people won't be sure
If you did anything at all—or if you’re just a shiny bore!
​(Guitar Solo: A mix of surf-rock and frantic bebop)
​(Verse 3: Slow, lounge-singer style)
So I’m back on Earth, with my feet on the dirt
My followers are gone, and my ego is hurt
But hey, I saw the light, and I saw the big guy
He’s a lot like me, just less likely to lie
I’ve got no more shrimp, and I’ve got no more choir
Just a thirst for some malt and a brand new desire...
​(Outro: High-energy Punk finale)
TO STEAL!
TO DRINK!
TO IGNORE YOUR PRAYERS!
If you see me in the sky, baby, nobody cares!
REMEMBER ME!
(One final loud, crashing jazz chord)
​"When you do things right, people won’t be sure you’ve done anything at all." — The Remaining Smudges of the Malachi People.