Rolling in with an epileptic form br All smell is lost in this crowd I'm alone br I have it all, yet I'm deprived br From some form of existance I have derived br br Somewhere in between Kiev and Batislava br I've lost my own fragrant belloclava br It's been quite some time and now its grown old br The ones around me are scared and I'm cold br br With half a chance I'd kick it like a habit br Damage it good for the sake of rising against it br To blow away this cloudy nimbus br And reclaim the scent to inspire my impulse br br But it keeps rolling in with an epileptic form br All smell is lost in this crowd all alonebr br Mason Maestrobr br