Does the label tell you to simmer down
And reduce yourself into hostile husk?
Did they paint you a drastic alias
Upon the bold, lunatic zeitgeist's mask?
Isobutylpropanoicphenolic acid
I'll take your pain away
I'll take your pain away
You poor lost manufactured manticore,
Subjected to an umbral cautery,
Stone cicatrix on a matryoshka,
Synecdoche flag for farmed cockatrice
Isobutylpropanoicphenolic acid
I'll take your pain away
I'll take your pain away
I'll pour you out into a fluted glass
And laugh at all the things that come to pass,
It's better this way than a shaking vase
Adorned with misnomers and snaking grass.
I know you, truly I do
And I'll take the pain away
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