He was in his room, half awake, half asleep The walls of the room seem to alter angles Elongating and shrinking alternately Then twisting around completely
ear Just turn your radio up and you'll hear what I'm saying Half a million people with nothing to say Running round in circles they're just living their
Sprawled face down on this swiss stained iron bed In a dismal cheap hotel With my one arm injured And the sweat stained billowous murk From my last cold
Who are you? My card, pretty lady 'Devil May Care' music production, Beelzebub, president I like your style, too bad you're not a singer Oh, but I am,
You fear the lesson And fear to walk And fear to pass on Your fear to talk The teacher was feared Your parents too Then you became The fear of you, fear