I'm high strung
It feels great
And immigration is a pistol with the barrel pointed into my brain
I get weak
Just like I've been conditioned to
Best believe
This middle-age lobotomy
Just waiting in the wing
It gets hard
To think straight
I need a simple string of words to keep my concentration locked up
And I scream
Whatever master wants me to believe
I need
That middle-age lobotomy
Just waiting in the wing