When I force my way, and battle every day, my voice starts to delay, oh, the good the good becomes the prey, yes the sickening the say, you gotta satisfy this fool, it's so beautifully cruel. How many games will it take, to bring the head of a snake, that's slipped its way past the eyes and right on through to the gates, juicy flies won't tempt this killer's quench for his fate, we gotta run, run, run, run. When she slides inside, a thought begins to rise, this is you, oh and it's got eyes, oh my sweet tomboy weed, will you grow with the speed, or get caught in the mess, of the red picket fence, where are my men to man the arms to hold the prison shut, well can my children turn against the only father they got, what have I done to bring about all of this criminal love, we gotta run, run, run, run. Run, run, run, run, run.