Where's the exit?
Mass hysteria
Can't catch my breath
They steal my everything
The white collared robbers
Pick pockets and crackpot cobblers
Settle down
It's just a ruse
Nothing is ever meant to be
No such thing as destiny
Except that when the sun sets, the moon will rise
But that's just a maybe
Up to an altitudinous gate I travel
With nothing on my back
They look down from above and allow me to pass
Behind the gate I see free spirits with no possessions
No beliefs but many flexible ideas
We have all gathered here on our own account
-Tommy Johnson