growing old. greying out, puny skin, eyes that cannot see too clearly, you know.

Let me tell you a little something about your anger, my friend

im hearing things im hearing things

You are a statistical miracle, my friend Everything about you that shouldn't be is

it is you that it's all about told plain and clear,

a low grumble, from the room on the corner at the end of the hall

you do not know me as a personality stop seeking me

so words of an adopted stranger befell his body

Oh, I know the procedure is hard to hear An essential limb of your body,  AMPUTATED