Petit Mol

My sences are blank and I can't do anything but think
I wish it would stop, these thoughts running through my head
that make dead.
These images I dread and I can't stop these things in my head

Wishing there was a machine that would make them go away
but there is not so I just sit and wait, for the day they end
I want to find a drug or a tool that would make me stop looking like
a fool.

Why can't I control what's going on up there my little congress is out of control
I'm ripping out my hair
my little guy keeps falling down making me feel lower then the ground
he can't get up, he has no pep. He can't make that step to understand
what he did in the long run so he's done

Why does he feel anger? Why does he feel love?
What's this thing inside him that makes him above
Me
He controls what I say and what I do, he's what makes me wander who

I want to hurt him and see him die, for he has made me cry
but I can't make that push, so I wait
He's a little worm inside my mind, he's bait

For the rage inside me is my real prize but to my suprise
he's out of the cage
Running rapid so I hid, hoping he doesn't find me

Keeping control and contemplating smoking a bowl
I sit and wait
as my worm
as bait...