It's weird to look up at the sky when the man on the moon was just a lie.
And a ufo's a satellite to have your private conversations spied.
Like actors they speak layment terms to give us fake and vague concerns
While poisoning us with sweeteners to tame the bitterness.
All across this crazy fucked up world.
Johnny Pendelton what is the secret of your super drink?
Is it an acid car washer? But it's too goddamn good to stop and think
About the un-suspected truth obscured by oil companies and land owners
So question their lies or burn in the flame.
Like so many before you and I.
But I'm still pretty fucking sure that
Somewhere over your rainbow,
Across your sea of blissful ignorance
There must certainly be a chance.
For us to not turn out like you.
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