1, 2, 3, 4
Now I m a seasick sailor
On a ship of noise
I got my maps all backwards
And my instincts poisoned
In a truth blown gutter
Full of wasted years
Like blown-out speakers
Ringin in my ears
Oh it s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone
It s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone
Now I m a straight-line walker
In a black-out room
I push a shopping cart over
In an Aztec ruin
With my minion fingers
Working for some God
Who could see his own reflection
In a parking lot
Oh it s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone
No it s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone
Now I m a priest teenager
On a tower of dust
I m a dead generator
In a cloud of exhaust
I eat alone in the desert
With skulls for my pets
I rate the days, one to ten
With lead cigarettes
It s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone
It s nausea, oh nausea
And we re gone

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