The soundtrack to my last few days:

Today you're gonna be sick, so sick

You'll prop your forehead on the sick

Say oh Christ oh Jesus Christ

My head's gotta crack like a bank

Tonight you'll fall asleep in clothes--so late

Wrapped up like a candy bar for lunch

That's all you get to taste

Poverty and spit

Poverty and spit

You're talking out of harmony

You can't remember what you said

Cut it out you feel retarded

Take the scissors saw the head

Nausea

Bloody red eyes go to

Nausea

Bloody red eyes go to 

Nausea

Bloody re eyes go to

Sleep