And there's something not right in the kingdom of me,
A reign of pure madness and fallen debris;
The answer still circles over my head,
In my heart lies a bullet of solid gray lead
And I walk and I speak and I'm weak from this quest
When under me forms an autumn leaves paste.

And the birds feed on worms with their lives still ahead
And the worms feed on birds that have just fallen dead
And they all feed on me, on my soul, on my all -
It's the circle of seasons and my chosen is fall.