If ever I am famous

There'll be no need to kill me

For I'll already be dead

I'll march on, shoulder the pylon

Bagatelle carousel is my kind of hell

Squamous shapeshifters hiding

In rivulets of happiness and cruel shame

Whole spirits are made, they are not born

Saturnine, temper my mind tonight

Drawn into the innate lust

Escapism feels right in the glow of the screen-light

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

I can't cope with the fact that I can't pretend

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

Nor can I cope with the fact I can't pretend

Wading through the wastrels of the day makes

cn habitué of my brain

Taut and staid, but my strength may fade

Bagatelle carousel is my kind of hell

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

I can't cope with the fact that I can't pretend

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

Nor can I cope with the fact I can't pretend

Whole spirits are made, they are not born

Saturnine, temper my mind tonight

If ever I am famous

There'll be no need to kill me for I'll already be dead

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

I can't cope with the fact that I can't pretend

I cannot suffer and I cannot mend

Nor can I cope with the fact I can't pretend and

crcana: secrets which won't be divulged

Ipso facto: your allure is to indulge

You'll never, never be old for you are atemporal

Ineradicable: I must extol

Blot out my thoughts

Blot out my thoughts

Blot out my thoughts