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