The smell of the sick
A nauseating splatter
It scrapes it cracks and clatters
An empty silver platter
Its mottled and its tabby
I dont know who to blame
A logical pink gizmo
Spitting it out soft noises

Its a magician of sort
Conjures up the next world
People on pedestals
Are taking turns
To be God
Taking turns
To be God

"Theres alternating stitches
Running through your heard"
(Through my head)
It can run but it cant hide
No point picking up the pace
My legs are kind of weak
But I will catch you soon

Setting up a trap or two
For that sapid gingerbread man
It can run but it cant hide
Yes it will crumble soon
And by then ill be sane!
A ruse a sham a trick a trap
The gingerbread man's last stop
It scapes it cracks it clicks and clacks
The empty silver platter

Its raw its sweet and sour spit
The gingerbread man's luscious taste
The jelly chunks and slags of meat
The scent attracts the rats and worms
And I'm a magician of sort
I conjure up the next world
People on pedestals
Are taking turns
To be God
Taking turns
To~ be~ God!

"Bloody hell"
It can run but it cant hide
No point picking up the pace
My legs are kind of weak
But I will catch you soon
Setting up a trap or two
For that sapid gingerbread man
It can run but it cant hide
Yes it will crumble soon
And by then ill be sane!