“It feels like ten karats and no clarity when I look at the man who is our ‘king,’ goes to the desert to sing war his father rehearsed and come back with flags on coffins and said; ‘we won, we won!’ Permanent Jet Lag, please take me back, I’m sure this place is sick, please let me in, I’m not tripping, singing vows before we exchange smoke rings. Give me a pen, call me Mr Benzadarine, don’t let the doctor in. Only one really matters the rest of the proof in on the television. Call me Mr Benzadarine, don’t let the doctor, don’t let the doctor in. Have you ever wanted to disappear?”
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