Paroles: Annihilator. Bag Of Tricks. Word Salad (Live).

:
["White coats swarm about the patient. They've come to see inside his head. White coats say he's incoherent and tell him that he's sick. Straps and restraints don't hold back the horrible visions, and the syrup in the syringe only causes them to melt into a vile blob. They don't understand his monosyllabic utterances, yet the patient babbles on in his foreign tongue... Lobotomy."]

Closets of my mind destroyed, as I enter outward from a void
Corpses white have strapped me down, I rise above then fall
Tactual hallucination, cockroaches infest the wall

Psychic pain on ice, I hurt
Devoid strength my life, inert
Anger fills they're shocked me back
White corpses turn to black
I run on psychic gasoline, my fuel shall burn you all

Word salad, no ballad
Word salad, no ballad

Diabolic plot, a toy, my brain the corpses to destroy
Prick my arm, injection fed, it's poison, I'm no fool
Tetanus shot, be sure it's not, I wish I were at school
Closets of my mind destroyed, but I enter inward, black void
Hatred turned to apathy, led down this black abyss
Good night, farewell you pig from hell, this world I shall not miss

Word salad, no ballad
Word salad

Woken up from death, nausea
Catatonic stupor, anoxia
Remaining still I hold onto a sense of permanence
Negativistic fear of pain, algophobic life sentence
Moral, physical decay, hatred withered away
Scourge of god he makes me pay, I shall not live or die
Vegetative judgement passed, my only thought to cry