Strung out again
You string me along
Like popcorn on a piece of yarn
I'm falling off
I burnt the map
When I was a teenager
Curious of integers
Of pills and popularity
Now I'm hanging by a thread
Like Judas hung from the tree
A tarot of the number four
So what's the score
There's blood on
The sandy white beaches of paradise
I used to never think twice
Now I'm running in circles on Saturn's rings
That's the thing
I weep
A lot
At the most random times
That's why I'm forced to rhyme
And I'm asking you to stay
Please don't be
My needle in the hay
Like Elliot would say
I'm just looking for the pattern
In the mystery of my life
Cause even Jesus had a wife
So all you little ones
Before you ask for the devil's gun
As you sit on Santa's lap
Don't burn the map