1, 2, 3, 4 

Now I'm a seasick sailor 
On a ship of noise 
I got my maps all backwards 
And my instincts poisoned 
In a [bad word] blown gutter 
Full of wasted years 
Like blown-out speakers 
Ringin' in my ears 

Oh it's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone 
It's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone 

Now I'm a straight-line walker 
In a black-out room 
I push a shopping cart over 
In an [bad word] 
With my minion fingers 
Working for some God 
Who could see his own reflection 
In a parking lot 

Oh it's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone 
No it's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone 

Now I'm a priest teenager 
On a tower of dust 
I'm a dead generator 
In a cloud of exhaust 
I eat alone in the desert 
With skulls for my pets 
I rate the days, one to ten 
With lead cigarettes 

It's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone 
It's nausea, oh nausea 
And we're gone