I.

This friction is unavoidable, I fear
If you're going to say anything, stand clear
Coining new phrases on a daily basis
But none to cash your counterfeit faces

II.

Under your pillow lie rotting teeth
Offerings to a faerie who never came
At least, not when you removed them yourself
Now you gum your food and your brothers laugh at you

III.

Oh! There seems to be a breech (of skull)
The words are there, but out (of your) reach
Dust tastes best when lapped from wine bottles
And pulling your follicles will only leave them mottled

IV.

Lock me up or read this sentence backwards if you can.
If you'd see the things I feel, I'd smell a little better.
This is your life in technicolor.
There's no such thing as a perfect lie.