Think around the verses sung,
The chorus screams loudest.
Shrill cries of agony that drip,
crimson blood, a wrecked soul,
...
No chance hope resides here.
While we all lay rotting like twigs,
...
It commences numb,
'I never say much good, ' You,
...
Those rotten bananas offend me.
They have lain motionless too long,
...
I stay murderer to my brothers
So my passion may be exorcised
...