A song about the risk we take as thinkers. Deviating from the flock can result in treatment ala the Salem Witch trials. This song is a moderization of that scenario.
lyrics
On that pile of ashes, lies my old lover
scars all apparent that I'd like to cover,
but I can't get through the crowd, no
they'll take me too, oh
to their disassembly line.
This doesn't mean that banging the milkman is an option,
I'm best seen just getting my Sunday mail
I've got nothing to hide
except all that i know, oh
except my entire life, oh
they made him talk, I know, they made him talk, I know
they made him talk, I know, I know, I know, I know, Oh...
So I'll watch our neighbours dragged out by their feet
with less ceremony than my last morning shit
and I know my turn's coming soon, oh
I should organize my affairs
before the next full moon....
And I am no Connecticut Yankee, no I am no average heretic
I'm a sympathizer
with the wasted and sick
and that's all they need to know
the evidence is in, in their eyes, in their eyes...
the verdict's in on me
the verdict's in on you...
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