Lyric

Your mind—a silent cinema, film reels tearing fast

Thoughts like shadows racing, dozens streaming past

You think you’re a star, offended by the crowd

Your life like closing credits, slipping by, unbowed

You’re the director, and the cast all ran away

Each rewriting truth their own twisted way

You—

Schizophrenic (Schizophrenic)

Burning like a matchstick

Say goodbye

Go

Fix your head

Go, go heal

You demand we play your sick little games!

One moment victim, next a provocateur who blames

Hearing voices, reading signs from the sky

Your life’s a cheap thriller, no matter how you try

We can’t take your made-up delusions anymore

How long will you spin? How much can we endure?

You—

Schizophrenic (Schizophrenic)

Burning like a matchstick

Say goodbye

Go

Fix your head

Go, go heal

You’re not sick! You’re just weak! This game you play’s your gain

Perpetual victim of circumstances, beauty in the mirror’s frame

You swallow pills in handfuls just to dodge the blame

“I’m a victim!”—your perfect pass in life’s cruel game

You demand love, yet sow hell all around

Your diagnosis is cowardice wrapped in ego’s gown

You—

Schizophrenic (Schizophrenic)

Burning like a matchstick

Say goodbye

Go

Fix your head

Go, go heal