I've been wondering for a while now what sort of force you're usin'
That keeps me up nights sad and boozin'
Just called to tell you I kind of like it, I know it sounds sadistic
But when it's gone Oh how I miss it
every normal man must be tempted, at times,
to spit on his hands, hoist the black flag,
and begin slitting throats.
Sometimes, I feel the fear of uncertainty stinging clear
And I can't help but ask myself how much I let the fear
Take the wheel and steer
It's driven me before
And it seems to have a vague, haunting mass appeal
But lately I'm beginning to find that I
Should be the one behind the wheel
Even the lowest whisper can be heard—over armies—when it's telling the truth.