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My pull is undeniable Scold me from across the room Settle down, missy, hold your tongue Send my love to the bride and groom Reception's gone well so far Let's talk business over at the bar I'm getting hungry for some reassurance Right about now Make it quick Make it quick Give me a nudge My only accomplice My own flesh and blood My only obsession My own flesh and blood And in my fantasy We're allowed to float in pomegranate dreams And again, honey, I'll remind you who you are Entering through the back of your skull But still there's no sign of a Reason Reason For my only life For the time Trying to feel like me No more butchery No more history Just living free As me On my own As me (Move to the promised land I can't control my hands Move to the promised land I have been promised more I've got a chance to pay She should be here today Legs as my makeshift stilts Climbing down mounds of guilt She didn't sit still I'm not dangerous, I am ill I am not sick, I am hurt This can't be it, there must be Reason, reason, for my Hunger strike) The struggles of the moping melancholy lover are rational and natural, and find an easy termination; but the lonely sensualist is the victim of the worst, most unrestrained and tyrannical lust that imagination can manifest; every respectable face that is new to it inspires it with some filthy idea, goads it in secrecy to indulge; in solitude it conjures up for twisted desire some object; the nervous system crumbles under the disorienting unnatural rush; repressed morality, drowned by forbidden passion, tortured by the relentless recurrence of one single polluted rumination; reason steps down from its tottering throne, and glaring madness, or it may be, apathetic idiocy, takes over its vacant authority