I'll be stuck here a week
in this psychiatric bubble
for the nonsense I speak
now I got myself in trouble
and I feel there's no relief
from the chaos and the struggle
when I live with unbelief
in some beautiful tommorow

It is right around the corner
just over the next horizon
but my spiritual disorder
always has me on the run
from some devil or a lunatic
parading in the sun
with a giant cardboard sign that reads,
'You'll never have some fun'

There is no such thing as harmony
I don't think it 's real
but if by some wild chance I'm wrong,
it certainly is sealed
inside an iron vault
in some dark woods by fog concealed
that's wrapped up tight inside the guts
of some big whale's last meal

Itt is washed up on a shore sublime,
spewing on the beach
the dark clouds of regret shall lift,
exposing all the trees
that will burn down to ash in time
the vault shall then be found
and when the lock is picked and it is opened, I'll be sound