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Caligula
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The Great Supervillain
You are the fly in my coffee cup
You are the typist without pen just to crick my neck
You raise my head up
He runs into extremes when
Two drops of wash-up runs belong
The unholy bottle farts its last drop
Then I try to feel proud
You are a plurality of own frustrations
The shallow basin of number two
Hidden by number three's conscience
And ejected by drain-pipe too
Hidden by number three's conscience
You are a plurality of own frustrations
The shallow basin of number two
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Hidden by number three's conscience
Two drops of wash-up runs belong
The unholy bottle farts its last drop
Then I try to feel proud
When you're stressed with the hard-brush
She falls inside an holeless side
Corroborated with an awfull delay
Your bus has gone and now you pray
You are a plurality of own frustrations
The shallow basin of number two
Hidden by number three's conscience
And ejected by drain-pipe too
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