Down these corridors behind every door,
You’ll find a lost soul with an ailment of the mind,
We know our demons well, we feel them,
Hammering the walls of our skulls,
Crying out for our attention.
Our incoherent words,
Get lost in translation,
The sane could never fathom,
Where our minds are at.
She listens to a detuned radio,
The radio is talking about me,
The food is poisoned,
They’re trying to kill me off,
It’s in the water supply,
Will you massage my feet?
Everything is contaminated,
Can you hear my thoughts?
I was Mary the mother of Christ,
I’m getting better I don’t believe it anymore.
-She paces in a figure of eight.
They keep telling me I’m Hitler,
I’m not evil, you know?
I feel the colours of sound,
I’m just here to dry up,
Waiting for a home,
There’s microphones in the light bulbs,
Those people with mobile phones,
They’re all spies.