My Saturday Night Fever Turned into a Sunday Morning Rash Lyrics

I'm turned off.
That repression bit's jazzercized my provocative thesis: Your ass is grass!
In fact you're dead all ready, jerk off!
Those mental mechanisms are just rusty cars traffic gridlocked in yourself-dazzling presumptuosness.
Yawn!
Isn't it just so weird?
Fascinating.
The more you ask the less I know.
Ancient functions get reprogrammed.
Tomorrow sex is just a stab for nostalgia and agendas for the future are just a twitch to rumble arousal hopes surpass audience attendance: The fees of ears for fucking.