Destroyed by your own sense of apathy
My appetite is that of ten men
Decaying in your own sense of self worth
I spit upon those books and call it great work
If you ask me noses don't belong in business
What were they doing there anyway?
Too busy breathing to smell the bread on which they are choking
A sober pony pulls the wagon
I keep falling off and I laugh to myself a little bit
This band wagon is led by a dead horse and all of you are anxious for your chances to jump on
This fervent gloryhole is my life
If you ask me noses don't belong in business
What were they doing there anyway?
Too busy breathing to smell the bread on which they are choking
I hope you choke
Spread out now!
Thoughts like a thistle
I’m king of the castle
Thoughts like a thistle
I’m chewing on the gristle