Somewhere,
In the middle of the jungle,
Where the problematic play.
I am,
Hacking my way through the vines,
Of nerves inside my brain.
Trying,
To find,
Someway to explain.
This one goes out,
To the women in the magazines,
Who pout and try to tell to tell me who to be,
But they're not fooling me,
Hell no,
Hell no,
Hell no,
I'd rather die alone.
Don't waste time,
On the telephone line,
It'll only deceive.
Practice counting cards,
And do your best to,
Preconceive.
I hold a key inside,
The underside,
Of my fist,
And there are many things,
Many strings I could pull with,
This...
...One goes out
To the women in the magazines,
Who pout and try to tell to tell me who to be,
But they're not fooling me,
Hell no,
Hell no,
Hell no,
I'd rather die alone.