Chained in a cell, got my own private hell. Preacher crucifies me, warden wants to fry me.

The best things in life don't make sense

We just set it up and recorded it the way we played it. But that was the way we played it then.

I'm hidden in the scream when the virgin dies, I'm the ache in the belly when your baby cries, and I'm the burning sensation when the convict fries.

Is everybody that depressed? It's a depressing feeling to me. You know: "I lost my baby." I don't care if you lost your baby, I care if you're feeling OK. Don't tell me your problem - tell me what good's been happening to you.

I just want your body, Sheeba, I don't want your brains.

Don't always know what I am talking about, feels like I'm living in the middle of doubt.