Song parody of
Runners in Motion
by The Quill Pen Gallery
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Servile practices and movement aside
The Runners in Motion are found to abide
In subject conjunction to the daring young few
A master of writing is to be born anew
Inquiry with letters and drug-laden burns
A mother of seven is brought to the urn
She cries, "I can't see" as she quivers her lips
Without a new image, she ceased to exist
Cover-up blankets with soul-stricken match
A funeral march in Ionian patch
Among all the uses of beings that leave
The writers that block up the days musn't breathe
When time and place is here, we work as a whole
But separate motion leads confines to coal
From coal it is born that the beings of sweat
Can reprimand treaties that bring forth their death
But O, can't you see how we turn 'round a phrase
To trickle down places that can't act their age
With fuck-all, we translate to English again
And make all our words to a symbolic sense
Orf don dayn reefir gorn ar thut cud beigh
Un murter auv kilgen don mek Mey ein Seigh
Far yunther thain h'ard'our carn yelt ut mi nem
Ihn clarsmiqastraphorshun corm far wit metaym
To crush all the fabric of being about
We churn words in mills to be born in a shout
In moments of movement the Runners, they stop
For the time and the place do love us as top
Atop all the magnitudes, plates, and the whole
The mustering blisters that capture our souls
Are born without wings to be sucked clean and dry
The hope for musicians that clings by and by
Without a contusion, we practice a tease
In Motion, the forms act within certain ease
The start to the great apparatus is hard
As long as we keep it away from the heart
So kiss all the angels on phallical l'tips
And read quiet, careful the pursing of t'lips
For we are not great without all of your say
And the time and the place is on alternate days
We bring good fortune and we bring our word
The masters of script who exist to be heard
Aren't running the show, it's the beings above
So kiss them goodnight, and proceed with your love
Servile practices and movement aside
The Runners in Motion are found to abide
In subject conjunction to the daring young few
A master of writing is to be born anew
Inquiry with letters and drug-laden burns
A mother of seven is brought to the urn
She cries, "I can't see" as she quivers her lips
Without a new image, she ceased to exist
Cover-up blankets with soul-stricken match
A funeral march in Ionian patch
Among all the uses of beings that leave
The writers that block up the days musn't breathe
When time and place is here, we work as a whole
But separate motion leads confines to coal
From coal it is born that the beings of sweat
Can reprimand treaties that bring forth their death
But O, can't you see how we turn 'round a phrase
To trickle down places that can't act their age
With fuck-all, we translate to English again
And make all our words to a symbolic sense
Orf don dayn reefir gorn ar thut cud beigh
Un murter auv kilgen don mek Mey ein Seigh
Far yunther thain h'ard'our carn yelt ut mi nem
Ihn clarsmiqastraphorshun corm far wit metaym
To crush all the fabric of being about
We churn words in mills to be born in a shout
In moments of movement the Runners, they stop
For the time and the place do love us as top
Atop all the magnitudes, plates, and the whole
The mustering blisters that capture our souls
Are born without wings to be sucked clean and dry
The hope for musicians that clings by and by
Without a contusion, we practice a tease
In Motion, the forms act within certain ease
The start to the great apparatus is hard
As long as we keep it away from the heart
So kiss all the angels on phallical l'tips
And read quiet, careful the pursing of t'lips
For we are not great without all of your say
And the time and the place is on alternate days
We bring good fortune and we bring our word
The masters of script who exist to be heard
Aren't running the show, it's the beings above
So kiss them goodnight, and proceed with your love
