Do you want to reveal my true personality,
Reach down inside and switch on the duality,
Run screaming in fear from the horrid reality?
See the dog bitch that hides in my insanity,
Face down in the dirt cause she don’t got no vanity,
Covered with blood cause she lost her humanity.
Tearing her chest with her blood covered fingers,
To tear out the heart where the memory lingers,
Till they shut her down quick with their zap guns and stingers.
And then that bitch died,
Yeah they shoved her inside,
And she tore her way down to a dark place to hide.
And that’s where she’ll stay,
Cause they locked her away,
With curses and words and the shit that they say.
But sometimes she growls,
And sometimes she howls,
Or screams in those words that got nothing but vowels.
That’s why I sing,
Why I let the words ring,
Because calming the beast is a wonderful thing.
So I sing about dignity, valor and might,
I sing at the Moot, and I sing in the night,
And my blood sings a song in the midst of the fight.
And the bitch settles down,
Crawls back deep underground,
I feed her with sound.
And that’s who I am,
Call me out if you can,
And I’ll take what you like to think makes you a man
So don’t mess with this bitch,
Unless you got the itch,
To be lying in pieces, in some muddy ditch.
I feel as lost as Alice felt,
deep in the Tulgey wood,
not even knowing what size to be,
or whether I’m bad, or good.
I’m running as hard as I can run,
but I’m getting nowhere fast,
and as I run past them, the cards all stare,
their mouths all agape and aghast.
I’ve lost my train ticket,I don’t even know
if the track’s running forward or back,
or just who is whispering deep in my ear,
and do they hold the meaning I lack?
I’ve so many names that to simply lose one
is no sort of trouble at all,
and if the tea party weren’t totally mad,
I should tell them just who they could call.
My old friend Humpty is up on his wall,
adjusting his cravat and tie,
as the creatures shout words to be sure they are heard,
and the white knight goes galloping by.
The White King wrestles with paper and pen,
as he writes nonsense words on the pad,
it’s not his fault, you know, my dear…
it’s the pencil that’s being so bad.
The Red Queen is playing games out in the field,
and everyone gives her her way,
and as all the nonsense flies into the air,
I find just one last thing to say:
“Off with her head, off with her head, by order of the king…you heard what she said!”