I am angry I am ill and I'm as ugly as sin
I don't know what keeps me alive and kicking
I know the meaning of life, it doesn't help me a bit
I know beauty and I know a good thing when I speak it
This is a song from under the floorboards
here is a song from where the wall is cracked
my force of habit, I am an insect
and I must confess I'm very proud of that
I have known the highest and I've known the best
I accord death all its due respect
but the brightest jewel inside of me
glows with pleasure at my own stupidity
This is a song ...
I used to make phantoms I could later chase
images of all that could be desired
then I got tired of counting all these so-called blessings
and then I just got tired
This is a song ...