There’s crushed tin cans I never use in my *******.
I’m not one to rummage,
still my gut imparts with my head on this one

A sickened fool, like most self-claimed geniuses
Says it all, like most obsessive heathens
His action followed by the director
Far fetched could mine give mercy on an indecent charm like theirs

I can’t with these cans. If there is another man.
Another man, another man; that same can; yet another man.

Tabloid gives a lazy fact, tatters to what I trusted
Nomadic appearance takes place
What a silly way to end things
Was it down to the cans you’d bring?