Heavy lighting Body of stone What would I be? Head in the bowl Psych like Jung Psychoanalyze me I get inside It's a case of my noise It's these damn sharp knives If I had two of our lives I'd be plenty Plenty of buckets of nothing I get out of bed just to see what I look like The hands at the ends of my arms don't relieve me Someone somewhere getting me right out of here Only a servant with blood on his fingers Could make something odd just to see if it lingers The hair on your head bleeds a smell like Johanna I come clean It's a case of my noise It's these damn sharp knives If I had two of our lives I'd be plenty Plenty of pockets of nothing...