Rid my mind of all these ghosts
That haunt me taunting, mounting walls
That hide away the truths I toast
While tripping on the old pitfalls
I hid away when I was younger
And those to which are newer, true
That I once thought would feed the hunger
Trembling under all I do

Screw this twisted misfit mountain
Built of shame and pain and pride
Take the clogs from out this fountain
So I may sit upon its side

And meditate the churning waters
So to clearer see
All the toiling tombs and totters
Boiling here in me