Just another machination
of my poor imagination
I try to hold, it all comes loose
Beneath the sun, beneath the aging noose.
Obligated by design
I wave my hand, you turn back time
Taking orders 'til I'm dead
It doesn't matter, you're just in my head.
Give in to pyromania
To satisfy my cranium
And when I do get burnt, the scars
mark every lesson learnt, at least thus far.
I wish that I could satisfy
the image that I know that I
could realize if I could just
do this or that or these, but it's all bust.
I'm sick and tired of being told
what people think I think. It's old.
I listen to your words again,
smile, nod my head, and just pretend.