Some of my closest friends are worms
And I don't blame them for their dirt
They eat what God puts in their mouth
They don't know their north from south
They never got to choose their terms
Some that expire choose to be burned
Displayed in alabaster urns
As though the furnace purified
Their souls after they died
As though they'd outsmarted the worms
Well I have always wanted to be doomed
So that I might better like being consumed
By you
Am I Am I Am I Am I
Confused
Perhaps a burial at sea
Is your post-mortem destiny
The fish don't know their north from south
They eat what God puts in their mouth
As I am now, so shall you be
And I have always wanted to be doomed
So that I might better like being consumed
By you
Am I Am I Am I Am I
Confused
