Oftentimes I found the hardest pills to swallow-
Could be crushed up and snorted instead,
So the singsong advice you're so eager for me to follow,
Is really the same advice that nearly rendered me dead.
I feel sick to my stomach, I'm sick down deep in my marrow,
And filling up inside with this dread,
Filling up all that space that you claim is so hollow,
Choking up all the wisdom that I'm being force fed,
I smell the fat blackened, all the gristle and tallow,
Where now I'm so sluggish I once quickly sped,
To this temple where all that you hail and you hallow,
Reeks of the dead parts around me I shed