Texty: The Melvins. #2 Pencil.

#2 Pencil inside me
And the lead is yards deep in my face
Lick your tongue
Flat on the glass lathe
Smell the smell, the big P of this
Roll your head, chop my blood in yours
Leech the pain they drove in us
Count on this: Call off the land, true

To be used, and then you call me yours.