[Intro] (Fast, syncopated acoustic guitar tapping in thirteen-eight time) (The sound of a rattling bag of wooden dowels) (Don't look at the manual, Trevor, you know I hate it when you read!) [Verse 1] It started with a trip to the blue and yellow shed A Saturday morning ritual I’ve learned to truly dread Looking for a Kallax to store my vinyl collection But ended up with something that defies a medical inspection We were arguing over the "Hulvilst" or the "Brog" When I slipped on a discarded, half-eaten Swedish hot dog I fell mouth-open onto the shelving display And swallowed an entire four-by-four unit that day. [Pre-Chorus] (Internal expansion!) The particle board is swelling in my gastric juices (Zero uses!) My internal architecture is undergoing abuses! [Chorus] Oh, I’ve got an Allen key stuck in my left ventricle My internal architecture is somewhat symmetrical Sixteen square holes where my lungs used to be I’m a Swedish-designed piece of misery I’m a Sixty-Nine Pound storage solution A victim of a Scandic-industrial revolution! [Verse 2] The X-ray looked like a game of Tetris gone wrong The doctor said "I haven't seen a colon quite this strong" There’s a shelf-support peg wedged in my duodenum And my kidneys have been replaced by a white-gloss medium The missus is annoyed 'cause she’s lost the instructions While my diaphragm is suffering from structural reductions I tried to pass a drawer-front during Sunday roast Now I’m leaning against the wall like a structural post! [Pre-Chorus] (Cam-lock tightening!) I’m feeling the tension of the dowels and the glue (What do we do?) I’m turning into furniture, through and through! [Chorus] Oh, I’ve got an Allen key stuck in my left ventricle My internal architecture is somewhat symmetrical Sixteen square holes where my lungs used to be I’m a Swedish-designed piece of misery I’m a Sixty-Nine Pound storage solution A victim of a Scandic-industrial revolution! [Bridge] (The rhythm shifts into a frantic eleven-eight breakdown) (Percussive slaps on the guitar body mimic the sound of a hammer) Check the inventory, check the little plastic bag I’m missing two screws and my spirit’s starting to flag Is it "A-Side" up? Is it "B-Side" down? I’m the most organized corpse in this miserable town I’ve got a drawer for my kidneys and a slot for my bile I’m a flat-packed disaster with a minimalist smile! (Where's the wood glue?) (Trevor, stop pushing!) [Guitar Solo] (Aggressive math-folk solo featuring slap-harmonics, rapid tapping, and glitchy electronic delay-line processing) [Verse 3] The paramedic tried to find a pulse in my veneer He said "He’s thirty percent oak, from what I gather here" They’ve loaded me on a pallet and they’ve sent me to the ward Where I’m being sanded down by a nurse who’s clearly bored I’m fire-retardant now, and I’m easy to wipe clean The most efficient patient that the NHS has seen But if you try to move me, please handle with some care Or I’ll collapse into a pile of splinters and despair! [Outro] (The rhythm disintegrates into stuttering glitch-folk) No tools required... Some assembly necessary... (Is that a spare washer?) (I think I’m a Billy bookcase now...) (Fade out on the sound of a drill battery dying) [Fade Out]
