Oh I have felt. Cobain's sarcoma. Growing on. This will of mine. To drag me down. Into the water. The joy I feel. Before I drown. . And the Lord's hand moves on the scheme of my nerves.
Oh, I will not be undersold. The grip is tight, the hand is cold. Like money thrown upon the sea. I hope my love swims back to me. . And I can't save nobody.