from
Shrug,
released May 1, 1995
If I could get myself to lay down on this bed, I'd never get up. Where there was something there is just a hole instead, and a broken cup.
Into the ground—into the mist—hangnail of history.
If I could get myself to get up from this bed I'd never lay down again. All of your demons spin their nightmares here instead, in my heart and in my head.
You left the wound—give it a kiss—spitting on history.
Touching the view from my back on this holy ground. Ain't no answers only questions count. If I am falling or being descended upon I don't really know—and I don't care.
You passed the cup from your poisonous lips, sipping on history, ripping up history. Ripping up history.