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