My head aches
And my hand cramps
Because of you
Climb back into your short yellow bus
And drive to someone else's mind
I don't need your chatter
You elect a foreman
And climb aboard a table
Like you're sentenced to a jury room
This is my mind
You fucking idiots
Come down and meet me face to face
Stare me in the eye
And tell me what you think
You are safe up there
In your short bus
Looking out the foggy window
Yelling at me
Calling me names like a 3rd grade bully
I spit on you
I spit on you and laugh at you and stomp on you
Now you are Flat Stanley
And you fit in my pocket
But not in my head
And your lips are flat
So no sounds comes out
And my head
Is quiet.
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