I can feel it coming up and spreading inside of me It warms the blood and it eats away the memory
From my pen you expected the sweet honey to drip
Oh but the words come out like rats leaving a sinking ship
Yeah look at them run
Your famous discretion, how you so proudly call it Well, I’m afraid, honey, that it crumbled down to the powder in your wallet
And all the different shapes and forms which you control
From the whitest and purest to the whore of alcohol
Ah look at her run
We’ll get to know your sad side, again (x4)