…You talk too much
    Your tiny pill word *****
    Is making me overdose

And then I die and go to your garden
And see you’re the thorn that keeps ******* the weeds
Around my small little grave
And then ****** the seeds
And you smell like dirt
And everything bad in death
And I want to tear you like a dying scroll
Whose paper renders weak like my fading breath
But I can’t tear you apart
When I’m already torn head to toe myself
So I relinquish all master controls
And lay my only soul to rest