My skin used to be a disaster
When to a musical chair I clung
Waiting for the needle to drop
Ah, Dr. Zizmor
I was rich by virtue of being born
Laughing at abuses of power
"˜Till I felt, at age thirteen, a power
beyond my control
Dr. Zizmor
Oh no
And when I sat down in your chair
The ghost of a song held me down
As instruments you did prepare
The room was spinning
The last thing I remember that day
Your needle, doctor, descending
Descending, like it was spelunking
But never touching
Zizmor