OCD
In the throes of a neurotic breakdown
The water fell upon my hands Hands of small, they bind and band What I notice; precious hands — oh, the precious hands But the lines — oh! The lines, they are broken as I find
The lines, the lines, those precious lines! Oh, how they all shatter blind I showed a girl, so she was flattered, but there was a devil within the show that I find in the lines
There are germs in here Oh, some germs, right here They vacate in the lines darkened by the great light But there’s a deeper evil that hides within — I can’t escape the skin I’m in
Disease lurks in those evil lines Shivers run straight down my spine Oh! My spine, my reckless, aching ache The spine and the soul those eyes resent to behold But the lines, oh! The lines Look so into mine
All souls and all auras can’t escape the sacred Torah Or the fragrant-like señora lurking in the vast Sonora But the flora, oh! The flora that, sung by the sweet señora, tells me that Satan is coming, and he’s running through my hands I flush four times after I excrete and I cut four times my meat but I wouldn’t dare take a seat without counting the sacred lines
Each line; so powerfully fine I dive into the crevices and I dive into the lattices that form in those ancient lines The lines, oh! The lines
Those sacred ancient lines that crack through my palms And I read from the Psalms that God is good, undressed my hood, but along with resignation, I am sent with condemnation to a more superior nation where the kids had all played
So I say, just to say — there’s a monster here today, and he never roams or strays far from life — any life, or me
So when I sit within watery graves I pray with hands forsaken to be saved and I count, and I wash, and I count, and I wash, and I watch that precious water touch upon my impure skin
So the Devil lurks now and then Upon his fiery pit, I stand The water fell upon my hands