Good Luck with Your Head

Fuck the good stuff

Let's talk about the bad stuff

In the end it's all fury and cotton…

There's a spider-web in my palm

The center is a smiley-face

With X'es for eyes

And I feel my tongue

Becoming numb and salty

Maybe potassium

And who are you

With your glasses

And your street smarts

I'm quite ok with being

Unimpressive an ignorant

To your standards

A mafia with some psycho mixed in

That's how you're perceived by me

No code, no guts, no loyalty

And you talk, and I listen

I even engage you, polite as I am

I don't bet, but I'd gamble

You have a barcode on your soul

And if I could explain, I bet you'd listen

A set of letters on your payroll

And your set of ways

Is equivalent to

Mistreatment of an animal

But your tactics and lack of tact

Suggest treatment of an alien

An I bet on the movies

You're not sheep, just orphans

Begging for a leader

A rite of passage

And here goes my empathy

Imaginary places and genes

And I don't bet, but I'd gamble

You have a barcode on your soul

And hell yes, I'm in it right now

Fuck the good stuff

Let's talk about the bad stuff

In the end it's all fury and cotton