Psychoplace

You die, you die,
You're dying everyday, guy.
You fly, you fly,
You're flying there so high.

Your wings, your wings,
They're turning to the strange things.
This place, this place
Is calling just a space.

So burrrn, so burrrn.
And nobody will yearn.
You're crap, you're crap,
You haven't got a map.

You're lost, you're lost.
Your soul's now a ghost.
Your flesh, your flesh
Will always be so fresh.

This territory's mine,
And everyone will whine.
It's always cold out there,
There is no love, no air.