Sickness - Superjoint Ritual

Sweating, freezing, itching, bleeding

Self-styled poison, a lethal meaning

Face down, helpless in forty-eight hours

Sickness

Pulling your hair out, your legs kicking straight out

This is the closest to death you will be

Sickness

Revolting, distorting and changing for worsened

No one will recognize exactly what’s wrong

You are denying and lying

No truth, pull up

You’ve lost your old friends, they’ll never return again

Even when your senses return again

Sickness, self-desired, self-assured, with staff infection

Nauseous and bloated, your best behind you now

Irritate, four burning lines

A blood-coated ending to your life’s story

Sickness

Paranoia, schizophrenia

Resembling a picture of disabled fear

The future is pestilence under your skin

Sickness

As gravity pulls you down and then under

The pain, it increases

With every step, you’re begging for the ending

The dragons sending you messages

From the Grim Reaper’s plans

Sweating, freezing, itching till bleeding

Self-styled poison, a lethal meaning, face down, helpless

Terror engulfs us

The sickness that saves us is killing us now