Drying out, a paper tongue in a cotton mouth
Diving way
Shaping words you'd never dream to say
Without a breath
Without though, without dread
There are things lying there
Camouflaged up in that head
Old vines to shred
Life long thought dead
Life long thought dead

Creeping toes, massaging on my right brain
Now a forest grows
Blossoming there in my veins
So before you dress
Trade in this bed for bullshit duress
You're going to suffer at
The hands of those who know you best
The ones who love you best
Well it won't be me, I won't play the disease

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