God, I'm horrible
But I can lie in this cell all day
Inside out, backwards, and the car can't go faster
I've placed my hopes, in the trust of disaster
For better or for worse
This is the voice of the herald beheaded:
"Soon you'll be home, you'll be in my arms."
I meant no harm, I mint nothing but harm
So can you hear that message? Can you take a message?
God, you can't be real, so I'll carry this weight
On the shoulders of my head
You're a merry-go-round
And that red circle isn't ringing
It's screaming!
'Til death does its part
And the car won't go faster, sweeping by
And my life can't grow faster, just weeding by
Eat your fear, with its bitter sweetness
Taste that pure, unforgiving meanness
Single purposed solutions for wounded moral confusion
Content smile and a sneaking glance of hushed purpose
I'll lie in this cell all day
Trapped, shameful animals
Simple wants, unfulfilled
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