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It starts out with a question. How much of it is real?
The skepticism sets in, and lessens your appeal
Next, you study conspiracy, develop some theories
And become extra wary of all your previous learned material
Your tolerence for stupidity degrades
Most of your friends seem to be trapped in the maze
You narrow your associates down to the few you can stand
And even they sometimes wonder what's going on in that head of yours
You study east and western philosophy, psychology, physics
You think a lot more, and start to question existence
You wonder about your nervous system's limits
You tamper with reality maps, and then ask hallucinogenic induced
"Who am I's? What am I? Am I forever?"
All information breathes in the shallow dark hells of never
You can see where it's leading. You wish you were dreaming
If the castle crumbles no one's there to put it back together....
You finally realize that you've always lived in hell
No human model or metaphor can explain how you fell
The puzzle's alive, and it changes as you try to escape it
It created time and made it appear to pass by
You don't know what you think. You don't think what you know
You're a total lunatic, and afraid it's starting to show
Where do you go when your brain is your worst enemy?
The six hundred and sixty six foot tall bridge on seventh street?
You're scared. You're scared. Why are you so scared?
There'd be no problem if you didn't care
Now you've truly formed an opinion about heaven
It starts out with a question, and this is what it ends in