• I used to think that life was perfect,
    whispered on the western wind,
    but that time I now can't remember;
    a hermit on the road of life

    Bloody feet, bloody feet,
    pierced by my endless walking,
    traversing roads abandoned, empty;
    and you may think that I walk away,
    but this is one game you don't want to play...

    There's a hole that can't be filled with visions,
    commercial ads, propaganda, government,
    it's the part that yearns for freedom,
    it's the only part of me that is legit

    I need a medic or a psychiatrist,
    'cuz those Progressives think I'm going crazy;
    they're caging us in,
    our own minds with bars of doubt.