Revolver

This disease has hardened within our cast and well start to itch
It awoke with twitching legs that burst an inch to take a mile
As knuckles drag and thumbs oppose
The product becomes the process
It will itch and we will scratch
And we will scratch ourselves extinct
Our parts wear out not unlike machines
We'll lie twitching in our graves
A single revolution without traction and we'll all rot as the text.