Damned!

Is this the body you were last found living in?
What you bury has a way of blossoming
All that bitterness in bloom on your skin,
And the fiction cruelly continuing:
Slick surrogate to get to the bottom of everything

The detective sings,
Bedridden in the far west wing
And all the aces are wired,
And all forces conspire in this brutal bed

Without the body,
There is no crime

Doctors all dance at your bedside now
No cure that medicine will allow

Shame!

Sexless and the air's even belligerent
Counting down your senses,
Sucking on cigarettes
Turning and burning on the spit where you spin,
With the fiction cruelly continuing
Everything's true when nobody is listening

The detective sings,
Bedridden in the far west wing
And all the aces are wired,
And all forces conspire in this brutal bed

Without the body,
There is no crime

Heeled-up here,
Unhealed,
In twenty-to-fifty skin
Sealed up here,
Some story that ends without loose ends
Doctors all dance at your bedside now
No cure that medicine will allow

Without the body,
There is no crime

Without the body,
There is no crime