If you could see inside my head,
If you really have that drive,
All polka dots and pretty colours,
You won't make it out alive,
No matter where you go,
Wherever you run to,
You will find huis clos,
And join me at this new low,
This decision is yours,
Join the brigade or blow,
And leave your tear-filled baggage,
You won't be needing it,
A ramshackle collection of wasteful habit,
The breather is running this skit,
Join us all,
On an endless ride,
The thrills you understand,
Will now begin to crumble,
The floor that once felt steady,
Will tremble below your feet,
And when the ashes start to rain,
You better commence your run,
For if you can't take the heat,
Get out of the oven son,
L'enfer, c'est les autres,
You are not the paper knife,
There's no puppeteer holding your strings,
You're condemned to be free,
An existential nightmare,
The manic understands,
For when the dreams are over,
He's the only one that stands.
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