So this is what it's like to be etherized?
To feel no pain, no external touch
We're all prozac children
Reading dead poets idolize dead prophets
Cheerleaders on the sideline of the game against ourselves
And we're losing the battle
The battle of who could care less
The fight for our own sanity
We wage war on our own confused consciousness

I stand here, apathetically anticipating the end
Sitting on the bench waiting for the bus to beelzebub
I've seen the best and brightest of my generation
Become nothing more than an atomic wasteland
Oblivious to all sensory perception
Alive on the outside, but dead to the world

Eyes that have seen war after war
The bombings of Baghdad replayed on the hour
-Every hour
Ears that have heard the screaming of innocents
-Film at 11
It's no wonder that I don't feel

Karol Wojtyla could die tonight
Drawing his last holy breath
And tomorrow, you'll read the obituary
Sit, reflect, smoke a pipe
Tilt your head, and ask "what's for dinner, hon?"
Go on your merry, unadorned way
Until you wake, and resume dying