I know, the illness behind the image that you create. I know, the tedious need to turn all your love to hate. You poor pathetic paranoid! Is it just me or do you secretly enjoy it?
You can lie to the papers, you can hide from the press. You can fake it on stage, you can crawl from your cage. You can search and destroy, you can kill but depend on it.
I know your tainted flesh, I know your filthy soul. I know each trick you played. Whore you laid! Dream you stole!
I know the bed in the room in the wall in the house where you got what you wanted then ruined it all.
I know the secrets that you keep, I know where you sleep.