His jacket calls me with obsidian blade

He’s got a knack for spittin' blood over red lipstick stains

I drank the venom from the cobra 'round his neck

Made it my life mission to feel that again

He’s got a bad disease, no, no

I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no

He’s got spider silk hands

I think I’ve fallen into them

The ground he walks upon resigns to dust

Pandemonium quivers at his touch

My preacher, my undefined creature

Consumes me

He’s got a bad disease, no, no

I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no

He’s got spider silk hands

I think I’ve fallen into them

And my infection is the hand on my lower back

I have exacted that he's got something that I lack

Oh, the power of the man with the switchblade comb

He always says, "I couldn't manage you on my own"

He’s got a bad disease, no, no

I think it’s rubbin' off on me, no, no

He’s got spider silk hands

I think I’ve fallen into them