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.