Briefcase Choke-full of Worms - Pejorative Song | Текст песни

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• Briefcase Choke-full of Worms
• Pejorative Song

All your drinks are on the house.
All the world is at your feet.
You have drowned in self-conceit.
There's no end for your carouse.

If you dare to ask my name
I won't ask for your's instead.
I don't want you in my head.
I don't want to play your game!

Your depressions all are fake.
All your cuts are not too deep.
You take sleeping pills to sleep
But eventually awake.

You love Marilyn Monroe.
Even though she's fuckin' nit.
To your weepy modern shit.
I prefer my Edgar Poe!

Ah, distinctly I remember
It was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember
Wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;
Vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow
Sorrow for the lost Lenore!

If you brave enough then crawl
Through the corpses of your friends,
You can always wash your hands,
You can always make a call.


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