Hundred dollar demon in my pocket,
And a scrape in the hole
Digging up a bruise that darkens,
Calibrated to go
Down down down,
And your grip is slipping
Down down down,
And the page is ripping
Wasting the world away
At the bite of your touch
The wash of the passing days seeping out
Doesn't matter that much
Drowning out... no sound, pouring out upon the ground
Raining down... the drain
Down down down,
Morning shakes and you're fadin' away
Down, down, slowly down,
Metal stress and it's shearing away
Round and around and around to the ground,
And I'm stumbling, tripping
Down... jerk around
And the record's skipping...
Skipping, skipping, skipping
And the record's skipping
