I get gone in a very strange way. In a very strange mood I change my tune. In the very same way that I got gone I get get get what's coming to me. I don't tempt fait nor do I take for granted what I've been given. Lest I get arithmetic lessons straight from the heavens; "One plus one. An eye for an eye". What becomes when the well runs dry? I'm insatiable. Open my mouth, open my mouth. I'm insatiable. I shake my senses into a quiver. I'm a comatose. A no-show. A thrill-seeker, and I get so gone, and I'm spending like a blank check. I french kiss my excess. I'm hate-fucking everything I see until I feel more alive. Run from cover of the wanting and the haunting, desire calling. Once again I get to where I'm gone and I believe the evil deceit will break into refrain, "We'll be back again, I know it".
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