Pssyche

You're alone in the pack, you're feeling like you want to go home You're feeling life's finished but you keep on going The reason is there but you won't find it till you've been and gone Because you're living a hoax: someone's got you sussed Dull your brain or seek inspiration You peel illusion and then you find it's a transfer Drugs for the machine to play with your head So you can stand back and watch or take part and learn If you don't know the game then you're still part of it Because out on the streets it's strange to see the show Knowing full well that you're on the range Dodge the bullets or carry the gun, the choice is yours Look at the controller: a Nazi with a social degree A middle-class hero, a rapist with your eyes on me You feast on masturbation, a priest cheers to the nuns you fuck You'd wipe out spastics if you had the chance but Jesus wouldn't like it