"We need to find some help for you."
If you say that we're ill
Just give us your pill
Hope we'll just go away
But once you've inhaled death
Everything else is perfume
Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could end up your misery
Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could end up your misery
In the end we all end up in a garbage dump
But I'll be the one that's holding your hand
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could be your misery
Maybe I'm just a mystery
Marry with the left hand
So far so far from the mad'ning crowd
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
Am I a man or a show, or moment
The man in the moon
Or a man of all seasons
Will I be in at the kill with you?
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick
compositores: Brian Hugh Warner, Waylon Albright Jennings
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