"...what that process meant. And who knows, by the end of my career, by the end of my life, maybe I'll get it right... one day. But I've often thought as well... that perhaps, the true definition of being an artist, is that you're so deluded that you think getting it right is an actual possibility. When I listen back to these records, when I think back to these records, what I focus on is the recognition of the technical aspects of the record that I didn't get it... EQ or compression... or in hindsight, maybe that song that I thought was a great addition to that work as an overarching statement, in hindsight was only appropriate because of the frame of mind that I was in, and now I listen back and as a piece of music it doesn't hold up to me. Maybe I am so deluded that I think that the objective of being a human being is to finally understand-"
~ Devin Townsend

Let the choir know if something goes wrong
Tell them never to come to me
Just 'cause I'm shitting where the priests shit don't mean
That I'm the second coming of Easter extremes
I ride the buses in my sleep
End up in nowhere for the week
Crumple up another sheet
Just put the pencil down and leave
Caffeine stained into a daze
I'm running out of ways to say:
(Let me blunt 'bout this)
Oh God, I feel like fucking shit

I take pride in
Base my life in
The evil things
The evil things

There are those
There are those in need of me
I can be human once more
All I must do is try
I live off eight words a day
Hidden out in bathrooms
Changed my name
Spin it all however you please
But deep inside it's all the same
Topographic veins across the chart
Mountaintops of skin begin to char
I'm nothing without a heart
My body cramps and falls apart now

I take in pride in
Base my life in
The evil things
The evil things
I take pride in
(Never start with the pages blank, but isn't that how you buy them?)
Base my life in
(Never start with the pages blank, but isn't that how you buy them?)
The evil things
(Never start with the pages blank, but isn't that how you buy them?)
The evil things

Take us out, I know a place where
I can tear off your Old Navy blazer
Scopolamine hallucinate that
Everything's alright
I'm in need of something new
Someone to spill my soul out to
Because the bitch I'm seeing won't let me speak
Until everything gets rhymed