I shit a lot more than I write
in allotted time, in finished product
I shit a lot more than I write
I have shit at my fingertips
In your hair I wipe it
If there is one thing in this world
That no one needs
We offer you the essential
From this ridiculous thing
A grain of salt in the ocean...
Less than nothing
Because talking is of no use...
I have never found
I looked for you in vain
If my song is a product
If my head is a factory that pollutes you
At least take this advice:
If the legs of your chair are unbalanced
Put our CD under one of them
And your imbalance will be balanced.
Take these words like vomit
Which enters your ears.
Take my ideas like a bee
Which stings you when you fall asleep at sun
And tell yourself that I may have avoided that
U.V. rays give you a fatal disease.
I may have the impression
To have a certain usefulness.
Otherwise tell yourself that without you
I would have had indigestion from having
Thought too much on my own like a head
Supported © by a body
Who doesn't care about her...
Who doesn't care about her...