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  knows my true identity.
 For all we know I'm  F. Kennedy's
 love  with Nosferatu.
 We can't  but still we got to.
  knows how deep this mystery goes,
 but ancient  history shows:
 We're all descended from the same evil alien 
 And it's a pretty shade  gray.
 It  the woodwork eat away.
 Glass breaks and  milk curdles.
 It glows in the dark and it  turtles.
 Somebody  me something interesting.
 They told  the world is always tempesting
 round and  again.
 I've  enough of that pseudo-Zen.
 Somebody else was  from afar,
 screwing  up like a broken VCR.
 She thought that I was  insincere, because
 I rolled my  a bit too much.
 Am I really that out of 
 Why should I care about 
 I'm not concerned with  things I miss.
 I don't see the  in not believing in
 things you can taste like fear  cinnamon.
 Sadly  hasn't gotten me anything but dread and gluttony.
 Under  ground is where I wanna go.
 Surely there  a way, but I dunno how to get there.
  one seems to know, actually, so
 I  to use a garden spade,
 but it was very  made.
  broke into so many pieces.
 It's times like these that I wish 
 Telekinesis...Telekinesis...Telekinesis