This is a song about "Hoverin"

Service the discursive lurkers in the furthest mergers of a scary circus,

Bastard, hap hazardous track master, put a beat on and words become lavishly crass daggers/

The mask is on 'em like a catholic service

And then bitch-slap her on purpose,

Wait a second..the souls still have fear,every hearse reverses.

At a funeral service lurking and snatching purses