sometimes i cry murder
at the top of my lungs
often when i smile
mischief runs wild
and you're right
it's my fear
well it's my fear
of making sense
frequently i question
the virtue of man
always at high tide
the burden, the sinking of plans
and you're right
it's my fear
well it's my fear
of making sense
and i'm done
i'm just pink
in the middle
at the stake