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Ghost town
Walk among the zombies
Faced down
Their eyes are never on me

Backs up to the wall
Plugged into a pocket
Sigh
Might as well just die

I could try to emulate the brain-dead
But I get sick and tired of the radio
Buzzing like a hornet in the playpen
I’ll unplug, feel my head, feel alright

Goddamn
Set yourself on fire
Strong crowd
To walk you to the pyre

Don’t be who you are
They’d rather see your riot
Son
I don’t like my mind

I would like to medicate the brain-dead
But I get sick and tired in the waiting room
Keep me so unwell that I’m your best friend
Nice and quiet, well-behaved, I’m alright

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