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            You like the thought of sickness
            It keeps you in your place
            People tend to notice you
            The pain etched on your face
            Gives you a leave of absence
            From joining in the life
            That you are trying to hide from
            There's safety in your strife.

            You've dug a stagnant cistern
            You wallow in it's mire
            Sadly you will waste away
            As people, of you, tire
            You have the choice of life or death
            You're missing such a lot
            Rise up from your septic tank
            For He is all you've got.