The Fake Rat of Dave Navarro

I'm watching you in a frame
Storm and window
My sanity bounces around
Somewhere between the two
I try to stop the low tides
With a fucking high ball
I drown my meds I drown my soggy view
I'm stopping you in name
Normal and simple
Can't find the novacaine to lash away at you

It's not that it's not that
It's not that it's not that
Yes sir I've got these thorns
In my blood stream
It's not that it's not that
It's not that it's not that
And a bag of green inside my boot
It's not that I feel much sorrow
The fake rat of Dave Navarro

I bocci balled your brain
Not good if so
And stares not do I watch
The way they want me to
I'm right below your eyes
What a fucking handful
If you're tired then go sleep somewhere
Beneath canned soup

It's not that I feel much sorrow