No, nothing ever feels quite good enough

Spin my flesh into something of more use

No, nothing ever feels quite good enough

Spin my flesh into something of more use

Spin my flesh into something more useful

Spin my flesh into something of more use

Spin my flesh into something more useful

Dance, dance between hot and cold

I despise you more than your sad mind can hope to dream of conjuring

Dance, dance between hot and cold

I despise you more than your sad mind can hope to dream of conjuring

All that I touch, with my Grasp of Gold

I despise you more than your sad mind can hope to dream of conjuring

All that I touch, with my Grasp of Gold

The lakes are boiling, the rivers swell

All that I touch, with my Grasp of Gold

The lakes are boiling, the rivers swell

Green green grass, to rest my weary head

The lakes are boiling, the rivers swell

Green green grass, to rest my weary head