Well

You put your hands upon it

But it only ever squirms

You're staring in the mirror

And you're counting every germ

I'm not surprised she left you

That she found the nerve to tell

The thing you claim to love so much

You don't do very well



I'm sure someone will love you

'Til the day that they must die

And someone will mourn for you

With bitter, tear-stained eyes

Will this be enough for you?

You got them in your spell

Because the thing you claim to hate

You do it very well



Was it written in the stars

Or in your mother's gut

Will you be as pure as snow

Or just some angry mutt?

The price of it has just gone down

And you did not think to sell

But in doing all these hateful things

You are unparallel

At doing all these hurtful things

You really do excel



The truthfulness must leave the room

If I ever wish you well