I don't get a rise,
Expressing drops of the chasm
They bead up inside us all
Sometimes watching one retching
These black bubbles
Will make us cry a couple more
And I think they collect in our heads
And time pushes them out one way or another,
With me or without me! Ha, with or without you, too.

What I'm saying is,
I dont get a rise out of making you do that,
Or maybe I do sometimes but I know it's sick.

Where does that kind of thing get a person anyway?

But no, for the most part I don't
Because it stunts the growth of anything good--
Gives me pause that you, too
Have to travel through this tube.