I don't know about you, but I'm tired of spinning.
Same stories been told for thousands of years, still, nobody's winning.
Pockets of pigs continue to grow while ones they call peasants, sit in the snow.
Kerosine's sparse, lights about to go out
as the wealthy eat steak, warm,
in their 12 bedroom house.

It does not hurt very bad
But it still hurts immensely, if that’s sensible
The dose of anesthesia was drastically high,
A little more please I still feel this.
There, my body is no longer affected.
All of these nerves relocated from the tangible, to the depths of my spirit
I must release my soul, delimit my mind, and free my spirit
To acquire the numbness, peace, that I cannot allow my vices to take credit for