The screws are tightening round my skull
In the same place where all the voices come from
Though this is no accident, no health misfortune
By now, yes, I’ve begged for it, begged for it to come
You call yourself a killer, well then finish the job
You call yourself a thrill, but the ones from me are all you’ve got
This terra is not my pill, when all kind monsters are forgot
As the real terror slaps on Maybelline, straps on a guitar
Somewhere in Xayide’s lair lies my memories
Packed like spheres of glass in a gumball machine
Someday I’ll return to sepia and monochrome
As another Dorothy clicks her heels…
*(Going anyplace but home)