Lyrics
Was there ever such a perfect time?
I am in waste and I hang for it
Don't let me drift from my task
I could veer and spill onto my side
This is my sickness
Sometimes I talk to my own excrement
Or size myself up in a mirror
I lie down on a surface intended for walking upon
And I gorge myself on molecules
This is my sickness
Don't come close to me; you don't need
To see the pieces that begrime me
In time I will transfer them onto you
But, for now, be patient; stay there
This is my sickness
I will line up and coat with dust
Every half-thought and every action
Until all content has been obscured
My finger died in the woods; its use went
This is my sickness
