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The Anhedonia Epidemic

Light This City

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When her body gave into that sickness again
(she always knew it would)
She didn't want to say a thing,
for fear that if he knew,
he'd never risk getting even this close to her.

Fever has made her shameless.
She's desperate to infect,
and she'd kill to hear him moan,
with misery, burning sweet, keeping her suffering,
company with his bowels
twisted from that seductive disease
some shit spreads with a secret contagion
and you'll either be,
fascinated or repulsed,
by the velocity of defeat.

Tell me doctor are we giving up?
Yes, I know it's completely fucked.
Show me a credible witness to the existence of a functional love...
or even just a functional fuck.
Doctor are you giving up on me?
Don't you see it's each other we need?
You're the sadist and it seems I just might be

a masochist, neither one of us satisfied.
Until I'm fucking writing,
and I overheard them say,
"Our guinea pigs are in for it,
we're straining day and night to find the origin of this mutant strain,
once microscopic, now epidemic,
which crawled it's way into her brain"
She didn't ask for it,
but she is passing it,
to everybody she meets,
and it might not be,
the most pleasurable thing,
but this sensation can be so addicting.

Tell me doctor are we giving up?
Yes, I know it's completely fucked
show me a credible witness to the existence of a functional love
or even just a functional fuck.
Doctor are you giving up on me?
Don't you see it's each other we need?
You're the sadist and it seems I just might

He won't surrender.
His system guards,
against the potential agony.
But he will never realize that,
consequently, he's missing out on ecstacy
He wont surrender.
His system protects him against me.

Well, it wasn't caused by amphetamines
But his dopamine,
levels are unquestionably depleting,
and my favorite hypochondriac is starting to display,
symptoms of hysterical paralysis.
All the doctors can say is,
"There's nothing physically amiss"

Isn't it ironic?
That I'm the sadist,
but now it seems he just might be immune to what I inflict.

Isn't it ironic?
That I'm the sadist,
but now it seems he just might be immune to what I inflict.

Composição de Laura Nichol/Light This City
Colaboração e revisão:
  • Daniel Santos

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