You took a mind dump on my face.
You blew my mind - now there’s brain all over the place.
We all make mistakes - in negligence or in haste.
Thanks for reaching out to touch base - just in case.
Less a helping hand - than a coup de grace.
Don’t wanna stick where the sun don’t shine - or rub it in your face

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

Is your head on your neck or, like, in outer space.
I was born somewhere - in a very specific place.
Now, like water, I flow down to a lower place.
Common sense rare - crazytown commonplace.
Sipping from a firehose - fill a thimble with grace
Everything I hold dear - now seen as some sort of disgrace

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

Doom seemed too gloomy, now it ain’t far off.
Heterodoxy greeted with a vicious scoff.
Gently herd the cats - hold back the throng.
Not a single drink, tending bar all day long.
Crawling under the lamppost light - in the dark tall grass all along.

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

Singing to a bevy of swans a really sad song.
Faith has evaporated - trust is gone.
Before your breaking point, find mercy and hold on.
Gonna bear hug a nightmare - who wants to tag along?
All my friends are dead to me - crash goes the ominous gong.
Excommunicated & tribless - I know I don’t belong.

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

Twist my words til it ain’t even what I said.
I need a lecture from you like I need another hole in my head.
Your reason leads to justify senseless death.
A vain sigh of relief - after the alligator’s been fed.
You get off filling your foes with a shot of dread
You found it in your heart to leave a horse’s head in my bed.

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.

I didn’t mean to interrupt. Go right ahead.
I’ve been following the plot, but one of us musta lost the thread.
Chillin like Charles Ingles - country’s edge - on my homestead.
Sure, I was naive, but I was misled.
Emptied myself in humble service instead.
All for the good Lord - til my last breath - my deathbed.

The tyrant inside is buried in every chest.
Poverty of spirit- make me blessed.
So there's nothing, nothing, nothing left.