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