[Intro]
Systemic failure, a diagnosis of the soul,
A necrotic narrative spinning out of control.
Pathology report: the vacancy behind the eyes,
Where Munchausen’s architecture rots and lies.
[Verse 1]
Intestinal failure—a fiction you weave,
While the clinical consensus begs you to leave.
Miraculous cure? Your TPN line removed,
A fabricated crisis, medically disapproved.
Ozempic for a stomach that won’t even churn,
While you feign gastroparesis, watching logic burn.
A contraindication of sheer, unadulterated fraud,
Parading your delusions like a disgraced demigod.
[Pre-Chorus]
The central line is pulled, the charade falls away,
You hunt for the next fix, the next foul display.
A parasite in spirit, a void in the skin,
Let the autopsy of your conscience begin.
[Chorus]
You’re a walking contagion, a coital mistake,
With a history of malice and the lives that you break.
From the kennel you haunt to the scripts you pursue,
There’s no medical mercy for a creature like you.
The law is the scalpel, the cell is the ward,
For the sickness you crave and the truth you ignored.
[Verse 2]
Your knowledge of animals is twisted and low,
A canine and whipped cream for your only coito.
That’s the depth of your science, the scope of your skill,
An obscene routine when the household is still.
Yet you stalk my real service dog, picking up on your rot,
Absorbing the stress of the sickness you plot.
You covet our struggle, you envy our pain,
A hollow-point shadow with a diseased, empty brain.
[Pre-Chorus]
The evidence mounts in the data you feed,
Digital venom for your pathological need.
The threshold is crossed, the litigation is set,
A psychiatric holding—the debt you’ll soon get.
[Chorus]
You’re a walking contagion, a coital mistake,
With a history of malice and the lives that you break.
From the kennel you haunt to the scripts you pursue,
There’s no medical mercy for a creature like you.
The law is the scalpel, the cell is the ward,
For the sickness you crave and the truth you ignored.
[Bridge]
Progressive decay? You wouldn’t know the term,
You’re a blighted specimen, a squirming, false worm.
Stop feigning the illness of those truly dying,
When the only thing failing is the reality you’re buying.
Your "legal defense" is a joke on the stand,
Soon, cold, steel restraints will be gripping your hand.
[Outro]
Case file closed, the prognosis is bleak,
Your silence is coming, the future is weak.
Necrosis of spirit, a terminal stain,
Only madness remains in your hollowed-out brain.
Admission processed. System shut down.
