Each of my carts have gone off the track
I've lost something and I can’t get it back
All of my gears are spinning counter clockwise
Meanwhile my nerves are all tied up in tongue ties
Me feet are both left – without shoes or souls
Something odd is filling my empty thought holes
I am realizing my less than perfect attire
And trying to roll out my outer beauty fire
My tongue is in checkmate with no room for breath
My skin tone’s turned from pale to the color of death
My mind is a blur, it’s a bottomless pit
I'm falling and I'm falling, but there’s no floor to it
We’re sorry sir, but we can’t help you today
Our system’s breaking down in the exact same way
But we’ll here your complaint, what have you got to say?
…She’s perfect