My arm rests in the plaster of Paris
I\'ve suffered an orgy of terrible thoughts
So it\'s best to zone out, in lieu of sobering up
The night is paralyzed in its fancy costume
There is a nuance, in the precept
That I can\'t avoid
I\'ve been pushed to a dangerous point
In slow motion, like an agent
An ailment
The postman with a time capsule
A troglodyte with no destination
In complete silence
I hear the church bells tolling
Once again I\'m procrastinating
Can\'t overcome my addictions
In complete silence
I hear the bells tolling
Corollas bleed Mississippis
It\'s boring like shaving potatoes
We\'re headless, all of us
I\'m in a white shirt, buttoned up
Repeating myself.