An asphalt lot with an ever-present fog
A tilting floor and a gaping sense of loss
Where nobody knows my name
I’ll build my house and hide away
That place will be the place I’m waiting for

A sloping roof with a million leaking holes
A sheet rock wall filled up with weeping mold
Where everybody hates my name
I’ll build my shack and hide away
Real hell will be the place I’m waiting for

I’ve sunken to the bottom of this well
I’ve give up completely in this hell
Where people curse my awful face
I’ll set my roots and dig my grave
Real pain unlike another still in store