I was waiting for you, you look drunk Oh, it's nothing just the readjustment, your eyes? You look drunk Oh, it's nothing just the readjustment, your eyes? This idea is sufficiently plausible In an attempt to account For the phenomenon the sickness And the sentence of blood I could no longer stubble Every moment threatened to be the last There was pain, dizziness And profuse bleeding at the pores How is this possible? The transmission was transfusing In a moment the sober eye Of reason would detect a vibration in the flesh Creeping, incoherent, bearing no mark of a human hand