| Song | Worsening |
| Artist | Baths |
| Album | Obsidian |
| Birth was like a fat black tongue | |
| Dripping tar and dung and dye | |
| Slowly into my shivering eyes | |
| I might walk upright | |
| But then again | |
| I might still try to die | |
| Never prayed, never paid any attention | |
| Never felt any affection | |
| Never a lot of thought to life | |
| I might walk upright | |
| But then again | |
| I might still try to die | |
| When the mouths in the earth come to bite at my robes | |
| Hell that sits below, of you would do well to bellow | |
| At the cold, the lifeless, the worsening souls |