One, two, three, four

Comatose and covered in gross viscosity

Burned by ancient hopes and fears and philosophies

Hold my head up for me so I can try to be

Ball and chain and mouth and brain, they just won't agree

Try to pull up the weeds, but the weeds are my home

Try to live underneath, but I'm stuck in a hole

Try to bandage the gash, but the blood's coming through

I don't know what to do

Cold world, come on, kill all responsibilities

Karma carving out other ways to pull my strings