Fever

I stood on the shore
that stretched to many more
to get my fill of merrymaking while the meat is raw
I spy before me (I'm seeing)
an island in the sea (the sea)
where the leopards sit and feast beneath the truffle trees

It's not to be McQueen
or go for Most Obscene
It's just to march enough to test the eyes in quarantine
And you march for miles
and all the while
you feel your rat bat split in your hands
and you pour your bile into another's pile of goo

Pick up your feet with every cleat capable of digging (yeah)
Notch up a win without a sin like in the beginning
Pigs will fly, pigs still die,
sometimes with flawless pores
Still with red blood just like yours
If dessert is disconcerting this high on a hill
For what it's worth, it could be worse (it could be worser still)
No pies on windowsills
But if a cowboy flick won't kick the sick then chippy could (yeah)



Credits
Writer(s): Alec Higginson, Anton Petkovic, Jack Talbert, Matthias Wann, Timothy James Allen
Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com

Link