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• Artiste: Russian Spy Camera
• Titre: Chance
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Look into my crystal ball and tell me what you see. Are you there? Are you there? Put out a signal if you hear me. Floating hungry grocery money off until next week. Is it wrong? Is it right? There is hope in these skies as I walk all abridged with my intestines in a blender. I am rolling doubles skipping all your property. I'm moving up. I'm moving up, Collecting my free parking. Don't look back, don't look back, it's just a phantom on a clothesline. Who's there? Are you there? Put out a signal if you hear me. Chance is a wrench thrown into machines. I don't have time for this. I don't even know where my position is. This isn't just a crime; it's a face without eyes. Look into my magic eight-ball and tell me what you see. Is it good? Is it good? "My sources say the future's hazy." I've got a mouth full of glass; this brain is crunching numbers And yours is up. Order up! Hey, what kind of lottery is this anyway? Or is this fate? Look into my TV set and tell me what will be. Be prepared! Be prepared! A chance of rain and partly cloudy! I've got a pocket full of boring music. Here it is. This is it. The hounds won't stop until I am abused by the fate that they exude. I don't have time for this. I don't even know where my position is. This isn't just a crime; it's a face with every perfect and ideal combination. What are the chances?