Here I am in limbo, won't you throw me a noose
It's more than I asked for and it's not what I can use
No more inquires of love and god damn this talk of smiles
I've got my own definition and I've got murder in the bedroom

All my words come out in code
sprung from schizophrenic flesh
2 for the scent of your hair on my pillow
and one for the sweep of your breath

I've got conversation paranoia worse than you'd suspect
and is it really so pathetic to be controlled by anything
or am I rationalizing failure like a jester before the king
of correct thought, and who is that I'd like to know

I'm cleaning up my polluted opportunities
It could be self-imposed saint parasite's imaginary need
I'm cleaning up my polluted opportunities
Triple clichE like a weapon in my throat I have e to feed

I need a world exorcism from off the crest of my neck
it's straightjacket fit for the sons of temperance
the devil holds the key to the crowded room
and the devil holds the key to you