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von Marika Hackman

Ghost town, walking among the zombies
Faced down, their eyes are never on me
Back stop to the warm
Plugged into a pocket
Sigh, might as well just die

I could try to emulate the brain-dead
But I get sick and tired of the radio
Buzzing like a hornet in the playpen
I'll unplug, feel my head, feel alright


Goddamn, set yourself on fire
Strong crowd to walk you to the fire
Don't be who you are, they'd rather see your riot
Son, I don't like my mind

I would like to medicate the brain-dead
But I get sick and tired in the waiting room
Keep me so unwell that I'm your best friend
Nice and quiet, we'll behave, I'm alright

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