If you say that we're ill
Give us your pill
Hope we'll just go away
But once you've inhaled death
Everything else is perfume

Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could end up your misery
Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could end up your misery

In the end we all end up in a garbage dump
But I'll be the one that's holding your hand

We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured

Maybe I'm just a mystery
I could be your misery
Maybe I'm just a mystery

Marry with the left hand
So far, so far from the maddening crowd

We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured

Am I a man or a show, or moment
The man in the moon
Or a man of all seasons
Will I be in at the kill
With you?

We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured

We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured
We are sick, fucked up and complicated
We are chaos, we can't be cured

We are sick

Copyright: CONCORD MUSIC PUBLISHING LLC
Writer(s): Brian Hugh Warner, Waylon Albright Jennings