Tarantula Type

This sickness that's inside of me

Ain't a sickness that's easy to see

No rash, no runs, no potpourri

Of symptoms, of woes, no bloody stool

No bloody nose

Just 'cause you can't see it's there

Don't mean that that shit isn't there

Stitched into this birthday suit

Oh, grandmother, how I miss you

Like a banshee, Sid and Nancy

My double helix is coming unglued

It's in your blood

It clogs your veins

Eats your gorgeous brains

And it will drag you straight, straight to your grave

Quick

A head in the clouds is a foot in the grave

A head in the clouds is a foot in the grave

But a foot in the grave is where I'd rather be

If a head in the clouds means I'm sick

I'm not sick, you're the one that's sick

Rick, serve me my goddamn breakfast