while you re going around trying to keep people outta hell i m going around trying to keep the hell out of people your evil sends chills through my bones and it flows through the back roads of my arteries genetic memory fights technology administered by moral midgets there are picket signs in my eyes and when they strike you ll wanna talk business note to self go for self go for broke no one else ever showed you the ropes or helped and what are they supposed to do of course they gotta rebuild every wall that you broke on through drugs won t get my thoughts runnin i need em to make these thoughts stop comin last night i had a dream i shot someone when i awoke my hands were full of the fluid my heart s pumpin i went to get it tested the doctor was not so interested in analyzing the message he had a pill that if he issues out he gets paid on the side i got a lifetime supply maybe he s a ghost and maybe i m the host the polterzeitgeist who knows the right price to pay the priest to release me from these ropes maybe i m the ghost and maybe he s the host the polterzeitgeist who knows the right price to pay the priest to release me from these ropes i fell into a venus fly trap with a nicotine eye patch pirate of the ship sippin listerine nightcaps disguised her voice with the breath of a clean slate awake every morning to the death of my dream date selling sex to cheapskates with rusty blades fuck to forget and call it layaway got an addiction to thin ice the whisper of windpipes i m master insight this social costume is skin tight nah i don t believe in you and you don t believe that i m leaving you as you shrink away to nothing in my rearview too close to call too far to be hearing you singing my melody i heard it subconsciously when you spoke in your sleep it sounded like honesty when you awoke you said it was not for me i said oh i know obviously you re not my yoko so i cropped the photo and i rocked it solo now you gotsta go go  maybe you re a ghost and i m the conduit the common thread in every superficial compliment the loose string in your moral fabric hole in your logic hopelessly romantic in woonsocket leaving notes for the next to come written in blood from the wound that they ll exit from i don t compose prose or sonnets i just write like my life depends on it front like i m agnostic but i don t believe in you you ve got a transparent nature that i m seeing through somebody spiked the punch that you beat me to sometimes i m not even sure it s even you maybe you re a ghost and maybe i m the host the polterzeitgeist who knows the right price to pay the priest to release me from these ropes