Yeah, you got this place you go,
It's just a trip before the fall,
Way past the fevered pitch, just a spit from the wrecking ball.

Said you woke up this morning,
You said you woke up under a curse,
I've heard the blues are bad, but this is something worse,
And the ambulance driver, well, he tips his hat and stares,
And he asks you in a grave voice, "Can I take you anywhere'"

Yeah, it's the thing we cannot speak of, too painful to behold,
This blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul.

There's a smaller place you go, where there's hardly any sound,
Where the deals have all gone sour and the house of cards comes down,
And the damage is costly; it's beyond all dollars and cents,
You can't measure it with graphs and charts, or any instruments.

Yeah, the thing we cannot speak of, the secret we all know,
Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul.

Yeah, from the trumpet blast I hear the banging drum,
Yeah, from once upon a time to the kingdom come,
And the thing that's yours for free is the thing I need the most,
Oh, stifles every boast, stifles every boast.

Yeah, the thing that's hard to speak of, but the secret we all know,
Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul.

Oh, this blister soul,
Oh, this blister soul.