My head is pounding; a horrible stench floats about this swing. I still don't know a place to call home. We lick each others' wounds, swaying swaying. If this world were to end, surely my wish would be granted. How long will this decay continue? I can't stand it; I'm going to vomit. It's all your fault things are rotting. Shapeless things continue to multiply. It's a physiological discomfort. So please go away, this nausea won't go away. Just why were we born and where are we headed? It's all your fault. My head rots bit by bit; a horrible stench floats about this swing. I still don't know a reason to live. Until the end comes, I'll be swaying, swaying