Text: Nine Inch Nails. The Collector.

I pick things up
I am a collector
And things-well-things which tend to accumulate
I have this net
It drags behind me
It picks up feelings
For me to feed upon

There are times - plenty of times
I wish I could let it go
They start to breed, and they start to grow inside of me
There are times - plenty of times
I wish I could let it go
But they start to make me think things I don't wanna know

[Chorus]
I'm trying to fit it all inside
I'm trying to open my mouth wide
I'm trying not to choke
And swallow it all, swallow it all, swallow it all

I am the plaque I am the swarm
All your heart sticks on me
And I keep it warm
They won't let me stay they won't let me leave
They are so god-damn many of them it gets hard to breath

[Chorus]

Every last one every last one every last on every last one [repeat to fade out]

(Thanks to Phear for correcting these lyrics)