Done With the Talking Cure

My arms, they burn with poison
Gregor Samsa’d to insect feelers overnight
Prague looks dismal in black & white
What are you gonna do about it,
all you sensitive women with your sensitive pasts?
I’m done with the talking cure
Done with the circles and anecdotes
I’m ready for some fire and brimstone
I’m ready for «I told you so», and Manna
Arms come and arms go
and nobody ever knows how they’re supposed to feel
Bodies pull apart
and nobody has the heart to stitch them together again
My heart is stuffed with cotton
it slows the bleeding but leaves you feeling half-alive
There’s no shame if you take a dive
What are you gonna do about it,
all you sensitive women with your sensitive pasts?
I’m done with the talking cure
Done with the circles and anecdotes
I’m ready for some fire and brimstone
I’m ready for «I told you so», and Manna