P.M.A

Back in that day it was such a thrill
As we ride the train to the bottom of this hill
Met this guy, he popped some pills
It makes me feel
So far so good, start to consume caps and mushrooms
I don't think I want to leave this room

It was night, satellite, I'm alright

Control is fucking gone (that's what's gone)

Split that, snap your wrist, pop your back, lay down flat, breathe in
And let this take you away
To a place laced in piles of your own spit, I'm so sick of it
Man, I've got to quit
I can't quit

Bastard, why are you breaking me down, cover me up
Bastard, why are you breaking me down, cover me up, cover me

Cover

Control is fucking gone
(That's what's gone)