Trying to outrun mother nature's gun   Pointed at the back of your head.   So afraid of what you've become,   The work slaves, walking dead.   And you're choosing death while you decide your lunch   It's the ripping feeling in the depth of your lungs   Wake up dreaming of a new sensation   While I'm put to sleep with your transgression      Hiding behind the strings of my lust   And you know this shit's become a must   Spinal tapped, and drank my pride in chai   Damn, how easy to lie.