I move in your mental stream in complex dances and jigs,
I loosen up your consciousness like a syrup of figs,
Its time to emerge from camouflage, leaves and twigs,
Time to throw away the fake noses and fright wigs,
Time to face the music - no more metaphor,
Time to decide your fate - will you be cooked or go raw?
Will you be rare and bloody with your soul exposed?
Or well done, a charcoal surface with your insides froze?
And do you feel fear as you hear another door close?
Or will you just turn away and flow where the wind blows?
And are you still satisfied with the pathways you chose?
Or would you like to go back and rewrite the old prose?
Do you count the flakes when it snows and can you feel the heat or only the afterglows?
Do you count the flakes when it snows, yeah?
And do you count the leaves when they fall and can you feel anything at all?
Do you count the leaves when they fall, yeah?
And does your life sometimes feel like one big fake orgasm?
A gut reaction, instinctive spasm in the chasm
And do your problems metamorphose into Rubik's Cubes?
Keep twisting and turning but can't be more confused
And do you sometimes feel like you've been used and abused?
You're not visibly black and blue but on the inside bruised
And does your lovelife leave you feeling kinda bemused?
You played all the games and you're no longer amused, haha
Sometimes it feels like I'm looking though a pane of glass - I can see your mouth move but can't hear the words
REPEAT TO FADE