Trying to outrun mother nature's gun
Pointed at the back of your head.
So afraid of what you've become,
The work slaves, walking dead.
And you're choosing death while you decide your lunch
It's the ripping feeling in the depth of your lungs
Wake up dreaming of a new sensation
While I'm put to sleep with your transgression
Hiding behind the strings of my lust
And you know this shit's become a must
Spinal tapped, and drank my pride in chai
Damn, how easy to lie.