| It starts out with a question. |
| How much of it is real?
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| The skepticism sets in, and lessens your appeal
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| Next, you study conspiracy, develop some theories
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| And become extra wary of all your previous learned material
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| Your tolerence for stupidity degrades
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| Most of your friends seem to be trapped in the maze
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| You narrow your associates down to the few you can stand
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| And even they sometimes wonder what’s going on in that head of yours
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| You study east and western philosophy, psychology, physics
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| You think a lot more, and start to question existence
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| You wonder about your nervous system’s limits
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| You tamper with reality maps, and then ask hallucinogenic induced
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| «Who am I’s? |
| What am I? |
| Am I forever?»
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| All information breathes in the shallow dark hells of never
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| You can see where it’s leading. |
| You wish you were dreaming
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| If the castle crumbles no one’s there to put it back together
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| Have you ever felt yourself slippin' away?
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| Where all you think about’s your sanity, and how it decayed?
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| There’s no place to run, no place to hide
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| You can’t escape from inside, and you’re losing your mind
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| You try to think of when it started, and ask yourself why
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| But each thought deepens the sickness and completes the desert dry
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| Fear feeds the derangement of the inner eye
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| With nothing left you find yourself falling to madness so you…
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| … cry to your god, and act normal to your peers
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| What if God ain’t hearing you? |
| That’s your only fear
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| Each day you think more about your psychosis
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| No one but you can help you, and you know this
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| That’s the craziest part of it all
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| In your rational mind, you only know two things for sure
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| One is that you’re totally nuts
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| And the other is that you’re the only one with the cure
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| It doesn’t make sense, it’s not how you imagined
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| You never knew it could just happen
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| You thought it came from stress, suicide, a near death experience
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| War, drug trips, low pay, carelessness
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| You’ve heard plenty of stories about schizophrenia
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| But never had evidence of one who thought himself mad
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| You’re going crazy, and desperately reachin' for reason
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| But the strain to stay sane’s your only demon; |
| best believe it
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| You finally realize that you’ve always lived in hell
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| No human model or metaphor can explain how you fell
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| The puzzle’s alive, and it changes as you try to escape it
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| It created time and made it appear to pass by
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| You don’t know what you think. |
| You don’t think what you know
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| You’re a total lunatic, and afraid it’s starting to show
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| Where do you go when your brain is your worst enemy?
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| The six hundred and sixty six foot tall bridge on seventh street?
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| You’re scared. |
| You’re scared. |
| Why are you so scared?
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| There’d be no problem if you didn’t care
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| Now you’ve truly formed an opinion about heaven
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| It starts out with a question, and this is what it ends in
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| Now I know you’ve felt yourself slip away
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| Now all you think about’s your sanity, and how it decayed
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| There’s no place to run. |
| No place to hide
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| You can’t escape the fact that you’ve lost your mind
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| You can’t erase your mistakes. |
| There’s no way to rewind
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| The harder you look, the harder it is to find
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| Fear feeds the derangement of the inner eye
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| With nothing left you find yourself falling to madness, so you dive
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| So you dive (repeated)
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| And with each foot you fall
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| The voice in your head starts to sound more and more like yours |