SICK

I held a knife up to my throat
I cut it clean, I cut it close
I kept the blood sealed in a jar
Locked in the trunk of my new car
I sped away
I said, today I'll admit
I'm sick.

Behold I come, behold I go
You hold my come, I mold your soul
I twist it in, I jerk it off
You take it in, without a scoff
Buy what they sell you
But I must tell you
I'm sick.

When I least expect it it springs down on me
It rips me up, it sets me free
Finger the death in my own hand
I try, I try, but I just can't
It won't, it may
I just want to say
I'm sick

I belong and I do not
I dug the hole, I mined it's rocks
You come with a sword, you come with a spear
You come in the name of god and paul revere
Honestly? It's a lie,
But I'll say it till I die,
I'm sick.


LaRock
01/17/94