I’m Filled With Steak, and Cannot Dance

[Verse 1]
At least I can advance
Through peacetime in a trance
Bad days too, I’ve no restrictions on the mood
Just the degree of effort

Usage of the brain
Process phantom pain
Eye strain too, the strength of which should be profuse
And add to the collective hurt

[Verse 2]
So what practical matters must I settle first
What practical matters must be put down, which ones to
Shoot with tranquilizers, leave them falling on the ground
And made into a bearskin rug

But get this, the bearskin is a list
And I’m too distracted to go explaining this
So I'll just canon stamp it

[Verse 3]
I want to see you at night
Another day, another time
I can’t stand in this lit hallway anymore
I want to be liked

And despite
A past of bad ideas and advice
I sit still and wonder why I ever tried
To think that you were any different