I used to love the night and now I dread my bed
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Using all the light is how my head got spent
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Torturous virus talk to my eyelids, walk in my size nines
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Is this depression or a lesson from inner pressure pressing?
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Either way, the fevers it deals me are evil
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The thing that I love most is trying to kill M.E.
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I have the queerest feeling of my dearest appearing
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To be leering from the ether, fear more fever
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I don't like sleepers, drugs make me sleep
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Sleep is like death, to do death when you're dead
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Bridge disappears through fog in my ears
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For this chronic fatigue, there's no tonic is seems
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Lucid thinking is loopy to think of on and on weeks
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The thing that I love most is trying to kill M.E.
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General health making my mental health break
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But I'll never let go of what helps me create
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Nothing to this point but for this love
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Love, torturous virus get out from my eyelids
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Just wanna ride out life in the key of C
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I won't bash the black notes, I won't ask for answers
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Glance up at the banister
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The thing that I love most is trying to kill M.E.
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The only good thing and I should cling to it good
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Are the sparks of good art that park in the darkness
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Shaking eyes hate me to write
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But make me think up quite nice ideas
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It's like me enemy, telling me forget the pen dwelling
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The madness and sadness is long
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But flashes of mastery
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It seems
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How many ways will it warm up, 8 months ago fate came
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To break me in somewhat and rape me on the flames
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The queerest feeling of my dearest appearing
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To be leering from the ether, I fear more fever
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Like the bridge disappearing through fog in my ears
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There's no tonic it seems for this chronic fatigue
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I'm happily trading insanity lately
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For passion, that makes me a man at least, maybe
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The thing that I love most is trying to kill M.E.
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The thing that I love most is trying to kill M.E.
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What was I thinking, who was I then?
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Duly I tried, truly amen
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What was I thinking, who was I then?
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Duly I tried, truly amen
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Pull some paper out the printer, pick up a pen and pen into the winter
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The oldest cell in my body's only 10 years old
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With the smell of the kitchen, I dwell on the kissing of my missus
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Holding a bowl and reminiscing
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(I am just a child who got a few years older)
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Pull some paper out the printer, pick up a pen and pen into the winter
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-----------------
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Trying To Kill M.E.
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| The Streets |
