Painted floors, dirty windows
Rotten fruit on the kitchen floor
Wide-eyed rats, screaming carcass
The face of an aging whore
Rolling in leaves of grass, a dell
Lost her lover, files in binary hell
In the deep, deep ocean
Burn the drizzle, the pain
The flowers of pain
Dawn's potion, a bubbly the ocean
Calling you qawwali
Waiting in a lobby
For death is a hobby
Called thought
I ought to f*ck