With the down I've been edited out,
I don't fit in this place anymore,
shoved from pillar to pillar and many times the imaginary killer in me has almost but not quite broken free.

Edited out and the programme goes out without me, it means nothing to me I'm not there can't you see it's the property of the B ****** C, and they tell me pay for a license, we are not free there's a fee, but me, I just tell 'em, open my big gob and yell at the studio bosses, tossers and dead losses, I wonder where did it go wrong?

The words of a song carry on my head , I open my eyes and wish the **** I was dead.

Going home now and somehow the words drift apart it's like someone is mending a once broken heart.

There's a method in the sadness,
We all reach the impasse where the sand waits for the looking glass,
I only reflect what's directly in front of me
And the B ****** C think what the **** is he on about, he's down on the East side of town.

Estranged from myself,
Living a world away.
Not knowing what life holds.
Brings me to my knees.
Tears rolling down my face,
As the pain takes its grip.
Grabbing me so tight,
My lungs become so week.
Gasping for one breath,
As my life flashes by.
Passing through the air,
And gone in the blink of an eye.

Original by: Raynor

No one wants to hear this
the last farewell
the final kiss,
it's as if
you don't really care,

well
walk my boots
'cause I don't give two hoots,
you'll fukin listen anyway.

There is no enterprise
no **** me look starship up
in the skies,
we
are on our own.

Heading down the
escalator
into the mouth
of a rabid alligator
but
no one wants to hear that,
do they?