Your feet are sore, your throat dry.
And you can’t even see straight,
Can’t even see straight.
The road you’re on is a lost one.
It’s your fault you’re so fucked up.

You don’t need to die.

I feed on rain and fire,
And sleep beneath the moon.

Something strange in the night.
It’s a little triceratops.
Do you feel the earth beneath your feet,
Or is it spinning in a gaseous bleak?

Everything you thought you knew
Was just a dream:
Your childhood and its fables,
Your father and his mother,
Your sister and her toys,
And all your friends.

Black, can’t see a thing,
Except a distant, warm light
Coming from a room without windows.
There’s music and laughter inside.

I’m gonna start my own band
With a dinosaur on the drums,
A blind girl on the vocals,
And myself on the guitar.
We’ll sing about how much we hate this place,
And how the world’s a giant shitheap.

We’ll just keep going, never stopping,
Playing gigs, releasing albums.
Let the masses complain;
We’ll tell ’em to go to hell.
Then we’ll drink and smoke and get laid,
And forget everything.