you can't read, you can't write, you can't photograph it.
it's not too big, not too small it's just crawling inside me.
it feeds on lust and on lies, and its need to change things.
i've tried to run, tried to hide, tried to ignore my instinct.

you can't touch, can't describe, can never know what it feels like.
it's not too big, not too small it's a stain on the inside.
keeps me awake, when you sleep, with rodent sharp bites.
i've tried to run, tried to hide, tried to ignore my instinct.

it's replacing my bones with a liquid substance.
hiding from it will get me nowhere.
i'll stay here until we find a better topic,
'cause this won't solve or cure anything.

can't explain, can't recall, how, why or when i conceived it.
it's getting big, getting tall and it wants to consume me.
and when i'm down on my knees it will spit in my face.
i've tried to run, tried to hide, tried to ignore my instinct.

it's replacing my bones with a liquid substance.
hiding from it will get me nowhere.
i'll stay here until we find a better topic,
'cause this won't solve or cure anything.

i feed more of what it needs,
i can't undo the things i've done...