I'm a sea sick sailor
on a ship of noise
I got my maps all backwards
and my instincts poisoned
in a truth blown gutter
full of wasted years
like blown out speakers
ringing in my ears

its nausea, oh nausea
and we're gone

I'm a straight line walker
in a black out room
I push a shopping cart over
in an aztec ruin
with my minion fingers
working for some god
who could see his own reflection
in a parking lot

its nausea, oh nausea
and we're gone

like a priest teenager
on a tower of dust
I'm a dead generator
in a cloud of exhaust
I eat alone in the desert
with skulls for my pets
I rate the days 1 to 10
with lead cigarettes

oh its nausea, nausea
and we're gone