Tillary

A silly thing, it eats at me, keeps me up, I admit
An ugly need you don’t hide I can’t help but to see
Gets you hard, makes you wet, thrilled to talk and to vent
Let me know, tell me twice and again and again

The brutal truth of the thing
Is you need to control to feel free

Your own life it’s a pit, luck is late to each event
Job is lame, so are friends, simple math, less than shit
Appoint yourself, take an oath, rally troops, affix a lens
Letter sent, lecture held, you’re center stage just for a bit

The brutal truth of the thing is you need to control to feel free
No Gods, No Masters you sing but you sure love playing police

Mr. Officer what are my charges?
Mr. Officer
I want to speak in my defense

Mr. Officer what are my charges?
Mr. Officer
I need the numbers on your badge

I don't trust you with evidence
Your moves and motives they don't match

I want to speak in my defense