| Day after day
|
| They send my friends away
|
| To mansions cold and grey
|
| To the far side of town
|
| Where the thin men stalk the streets
|
| While the sane stay underground
|
| Day after day
|
| They tell me I can go
|
| They tell me I can blow
|
| To the far side of town
|
| Where it’s pointless to be high
|
| Because it’s such a long way down
|
| So I tell them that
|
| I can fly, I will scream, I will break my arm
|
| I will do me harm
|
| Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
|
| I’m not quite right at all (am I?)
|
| Don’t set me free, I’m as heavy as can be
|
| Just my librium and me
|
| And my E.S.T. |
| makes three
|
| 'Cause I’d rather stay here
|
| With all the madmen
|
| Than perish with the sad men roaming free
|
| And I’d rather play here
|
| With all the madmen
|
| For I’m quite content they’re all as sane as me
|
| Where can the horizon lie
|
| When a nation hides
|
| Its organic minds in a cellar, dark and grim
|
| They must be very dim
|
| Day after day
|
| They take some brain away
|
| Then turn my face around
|
| To the far side of town
|
| And tell me that it’s real
|
| Then ask me how I feel
|
| Here I stand, foot in hand, talking to my wall
|
| I’m not quite right at all
|
| Don’t set me free, I’m as helpless as can be
|
| My libido’s split on me
|
| Gimme some good 'ole lobotomy
|
| Because I’d rather stay here
|
| With all the madmen
|
| Than perish with the sadmen roaming free
|
| And I’d rather play here
|
| With all the madmen
|
| For I’m quite content they’re all as sane as me
|
| Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le Chien
|
| Zane, Zane, Zane, Ouvre le Chien |