This isn't art this is suicide, in a social way,
I don't have the need and I don't have the time,
I'll tell you why, because I think about it all the time,
I think about what's true and what's lies,
I used to think things in my head were true,
Sensory feedback, from things like you... (2X)
I don't know why this must be
The guitar's misleading me
I don't know why I've got a social suicide, from a sensory overload,
It's a hell of a time...
Tricky little mind, I think about the quivering flesh,
Then I think about the urban mess,
It makes my mind begin to reel, I don't understand all the things I fell,
I don't want to hide from the things I hear.......

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