Clear the bugs from their eyes. Consume all my children, And if I can't have their love, At least leave me admiration. The sun hits me hard Like your confident face. There's a story, here, brewin' That you might not like, And it ends with a lack Of your god's good grace. Now I may have bit too hard, Or a bit haphazardly, But all I truly want is to rest easy. So skin me alive And throw away my insides. I'm a head in a jar. I am camphor and turpentine. And have you heard about this 'cure-all remedy,' That's one part rattlesnake And one part charlatan dream? Now I may have bit too hard, Or a bit haphazardly, But all I truly want is to rest easy