The roof-top eagles are watching me
Impressionistic architecture bulging in
Oh, it makes me sick
Hordes of Man as ants by the river
I see their faces of fears and terrors, it's nauseating
Oh, it makes me sick
The mocking grotesque of the Stomach Dancer
I see myself as a Borough Satyr, it's nauseating
Oh, it makes me sick
The Syncopal's tear-stained confessions
Her feather-like touch to the chin is nauseating
Oh, it makes me sick
I lustily embrace her femininity
I look into sincere eyes and bluntly lie, it's nauseating
Oh, it makes me sick
I stagger blindly and crush my teeth
I bleed in shame and rue and it truly
It truly makes me sick
The foul mouth-hole of disgust is sickening