I don’t want to be catatone.
I don’t want my mom to think I’m catatone.
But I’m lying in bed with my eyes gone dead just like a drone.
I suppose it’s obvious I’m catatone.
They all said I’d be okay. Six weeks ago Saturday.
That’s when they brought me in to play with my head again.
I didn’t hear the doctor’s warning. They didn’t like the thoughts I’m thinking.
Clean white sheets and nurses. While my condition worsens.
I said “Sometimes I want to kill.”
So they gave me these little pink pills.
That stopped my head from reeling but not my heart from feeling.
It’s like an optical illusion. I’ve never felt so much confusion.
It’s more than any man can stand. Good God, I missed the bedpan.
My eyes won’t open no more I’m...
My muscles won’t move no more...
I need some air but I can’t get up no more I’m...
I don’t want these eyes on me. I’m floating away to somewhere.
Far away from the cold, locked doors. I am in complete control.
Now I guess I’m gone, gone, gone.
Jim Walker - Vocals, Guitar, Bass, Percussion, Drums