Heavy lighting
Body of stone
What would I be?
Head in the bowl
Psych like Jung
Psychoanalyze me
I get inside
It's a case of my noise
It's these damn sharp knives
If I had two of our lives
I'd be plenty
Plenty of buckets of nothing
I get out of bed just to see what I look like
The hands at the ends of my arms don't relieve me
Someone somewhere getting me right out of here
Only a servant with blood on his fingers
Could make something odd just to see if it lingers
The hair on your head bleeds a smell like Johanna
I come clean
It's a case of my noise
It's these damn sharp knives
If I had two of our lives
I'd be plenty
Plenty of pockets of nothing...