In an infernal shower is where I like to cry,
Impossible to separate where salted reality happens and trickling sensation takes place,
Benadryl pills and glasses of wine—Discoloration and crimson splotches my face.
And I'm so high, so fucking high.
Bourgeois Saturday night party of one,
Pulsating walls mimic my murmuring heart,
And you think it's all pathetic and sad, but Baby, this is my art—
This party just tremors on til it doesn't—til it goes off like a gun.
These half-open browns roll back into my skull,
We're in Hell now, can you feel those flames?
The music pounds on and I'm lost, all my spirit is claimed,
And it just feels so fucking good—so diabolical.
We can't turn back. It doesn't exist here—Redemption.
Keep holding my hands and spinning me. Please don't stop—just spin.
How do you feel—Do you like it with me? I'm redefining what it means to sin.
I'm Misery, Baby, and I love company. Let's spread the love—Conception.