am.psych - This Disease | Текст песни

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• am.psych
• This Disease

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it's a trick, a drip, a power trip
a moan of pleasure on your lips
it's a drug, a lie, an alibi
it burrows straight into your mind
it don't take much to manufacture
this self-evolving brain refractor
if it's suicide you're after
tap the vein for your new master

just a bit will taste like heaven
and all your sins will be forgiven
as you feel you start to fly
it's begun to multiply
you're going down on this sick bastard
with a sample from your benefactor
just a jerk, a twitch drowned in laughter
precursor to complete disaster

like a monkey on your back
like an endless heart attack
you fall down on your knees
beg for this disease...

you're coming down from this pure high
as you feel it's time to die
there's nothing left to compromise
as your blood begins to cloud your eyes
with your throbbing veins, your fading mind
you're longing for just one more line
settle in for killing time
wrapped up in my grasp- you're mine.