It seems to be
You don't really know anything
It seems to me
You don't really know anyone
You say it makes them sick - a**orted lunatics
Speak to me
Your mind was never here anyway
Your disease
Greeting people inside our brain
Oh the games they play
You hear the words they say
Never free
Locked inside like a mental case
Sanity
Washed away without a trace
All the things you do
The voices tell you to
It seems to be
Your emerald eyes never seem to fade
It seems to me
You've saved your sight for another day
You fill your thoughts with this - a**orted lunatics.