You don’t know how it feels to be me, to be sitting on the edge, dangling my feet,
Wondering if God would give his angels charge if I were feeling small, if my mind was growing large.
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head.
You don’t know how it feels to be me, having all these faces looking in to see,
Their eyes are white, lit just like a torch to burn my soul, which is thin, and which is worn.
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head.
Take my life,
Take my life,
Take my life before I take it myself.
You don’t know how it feels to be me: to be a poet nailed to this tree,
Where are my accusers, those who ridicule: those who have learned to hate and curse this silly fool?
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head,
I am the worm crawling through your head.
