| There is a certain constant tension inside my skull
|
| Insecurities that used to make me crazy
|
| Now just make me dull. |
| So I’m scrounging
|
| In a western void searching for relief
|
| You can check out early & die while you’re young
|
| Or peak, wither & wait for disease
|
| The party has died. |
| Hangover subside
|
| With clamped open eyes I watch the death
|
| Tolls rise. |
| I hunt with open wounds &
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| Sorrow by my side. |
| The hacks & actors
|
| Are pretty and convincing, but it is you & I
|
| Who shine the lovely light
|
| The fever hunt rages on inside my head
|
| Unrelenting heat. |
| Death: Become dirt. |
| You can’t
|
| Choose. |
| I am tearing through the obese &
|
| Subdued. |
| Gutting and dropping those who try
|
| To drag me down. |
| To see is to suffer
|
| There is no relief. |
| Your heaven on Earth is hell to me
|
| You can laugh along with the laugh track
|
| You can wear ambition as disguise
|
| You can exploit everyone around you
|
| You can call it a struggle to survive
|
| I hunt with open wounds & sorrow by my side
|
| The more I see the less I need
|
| The fever hunt rages on inside my head |