Bury me in a shallow grave. So the rain willnwash me away. And the sun will burn my soulnand the earth will feed on me.nThe earth must drink my sour bloodnTo breathe.nMy disease is caustic pain. I'm stumbling butnI'm trying to say that I'm crumbling away.nIn the corner you'll find me. On the back of the bus.nSterile, sterile vision