Low

Just jealous gods and mechanical insects, (pathetic)
Hair raising accounts of the future
Thoughts of reflection and silence and infest
These meetings won't satisfy all my instincts
Lowest of the lows, I can't rely on myself
Enough is enough, spirits dust off the serpents
Cursed are we who bare this face of rotten gums
And dirt filled teeth
Born with a face of disgust and a head full of panic
On a losing streak and it doesn't seem worth it
The sickest part is that I f*cking need this