Consumption's still a disease that kills,
it's a split in the self,
we're condemned to fill,
and it's spyring us down a gyre of the whirling world.

It doesn't fill and flood your lungs,
it's a broken hole which we try to numb,
try to fill,
try to run from.

It's the denial of death, the fear of dying,
and coughing blood ain't the mortal sign,
but when you try to stuff the hole
you're stricken deaf, and blind, blind, blind.

Fill in the hole with your desire for sex,
your desire for money
your desire for success.
Fill it with your Penthouse Suite,
tinted windows yeah babe
you got them beat.
Fill it with your trip abroad,
your brand new car,
Fill it with your cause.
Stuff all your fucking junk in it,
suck it up your nose,
shove a needle in it...
Kill your neighbor and yourself to fill it
it's an endless hole
yeah we'll all fit...

...Fill it to your satisfaction,
fill it with your nuclear reaction,
Fill it with your television,
fill it with any distraction.
Fill it on the left,
fill it on the right,
fill it with your pacifism,
fill it with your fight, fight, fight, fight.
Fill it with your communism,
fill it with your capitalism,
fill it with your religion,
fill it with your atheism.

But there's not a thing, that can fill up nothing,
'cause nothing fills up nothing,
and we've forgotten or don't hear or see,
that when you're filled with holes you're holy,
when you're filled with holes you're holy,
you're holy...

O addiction.
Gee whiz, where to start.

I think the song succeeds.

Consciousness makes holes.
The capacity to strategise -
to leave the present to create a future plan derived from the success or failure of a series of past events -
rends our relationship to the 'here and now'.
Human consciousness ain't 'here', and human consciousness ain't 'now', and we feel the separation.
So, we fill the rift up.
And our wounds, gashes and holes, a hundred generations deep, are the hardened bars onto which the hooks of our addictions find their purchase.

O what would we be
without our addictions?
Nothing indeed.

ALTERNATE LYRICS

Fill it with your guru, your teacher,
Fill it with your father, your preacher,
Fill it with your lover, and then another,
Fill it with your mother.

Fill it with your Jesus, your Mohamet,
Crusade, shock and awe, suicide bomb it,
project the hate hid in your divine fate,
they’re all twisted, we’re all straight.

Hurl your spite, call it names,
surgical strike, call it insane,
surround, build a wall around it,
cure it, convert it, make them all the same.

Love’s the hole in ourselves for others,
love’s the hole in ourselves for lovers,
love’s the hole in ourselves for wonder.

Love’s a wound that never heals,
love’s the wound we can’t bear to feel,
love’s a hole that can’t ever be filled
but the hole’s a well, the hole’s a well,
and all shall be well, all shall be well, well, well.