Bring Forth the Wild Birds
You mean the world to me
Bi-polar with a billion cells
Functioning, too scared to live
I need to get off this planet
I need to get off this planet

When Sunday morning comes
I'll leave you for my holy place
Give love to a hot-and-bothered God
Find peace in an anxious sermon

You mean the world to me
Corrupt you in my ignorance
Pollute your air, then call you my home
I need to get off this planet
I need to get off this planet

And on the seventh day
He laid in bed, half satisfied
He said "let there be light!"
And this burning question charred his mind:
"Is this love or sick dependence?"
"Is this love or narcissism?"
"Is this love? Is this love?"
I need to get off this planet
I need to get off this planet