Deaf, blind granite block
Content to graze with familiar stock
Local lard, not an English black
We don't venture into the fog
Homeward bound and gagged not twenty steps from the door
Dispensable as cooks at sea or journalists sent to war

No one found me spellbinding
No one offered me a drink

But by crippled hands at the potters wheel
I was given shape and sex appeal
Sent to work the graveyard shift at Heaven's JDC

Legend to the peasants there
Lights had caught me unaware
I've wandered into your graces
So how do I get out?
I want out
I want out
I want out

It's been quiet for too long
But pompous phrases and alarms can't help you now
And every pervert outside of every fence
Has had his fill of your kids, he's clocking out
Such indecisive crusaders
A martyr made into a scenic blur
Lookout into a left behind, what wounded pride

No one finds me spellbinding
No one's buying me a drink

I've been fed to the lions
Left high and dry by the eighth circle of Hell
Where are the spoils?
I want the ticker tape parade
Damn these filthy rats