sometimes i cry murder

at the top of my lungs

often when i smile

mischief runs wild



and you're right

it's my fear

well it's my fear

of making sense



frequently i question

the virtue of man

always at high tide

the burden, the sinking of plans



and you're right

it's my fear

well it's my fear

of making sense



and i'm done

i'm just pink

in the middle

at the stake