Oh.
Once a year the crowd awakes after 364 dull days,
24 hours available to waste.
And the beer falls down like heavy
rain to rule out every chance of pain.
All fellow sleepers, they react the same.
They all show they're insane.
The more they try to differentiate,
the more they grow insane.
Trying hard
to find some fantasy.
And with all of their might they cry.
Misery all
over the place and spirits have died while I still gaze.
Those zombies have no heart.
They have a face.
And they'll never do what they should have done.
My energy has been wasted and the generous sun is getting dangerous.
Now I think I better run.
Insane.
They all show they're insane.
The more they try to differentiate,
the more they grow insane.
Trying hard to find some fantasy.
And with all of their might they cry.
See me be...
Insane...
Insane...
Insane...
Insane,
insane,
insane.
Next year, the crowd will awake,
up with 364 more dull things,
and those hollow faces will
still look the same.
And the bill be sold in bigger cans,
for stills will well from every man.
And oh, I guess I'll better be insane by then.
Insane,
is it me who is insane?
The more I try to be myself,
the more I grow insane.
Trying hard to unveil my mysteries.
Then with all of my might I sigh,
let me be.
Let me be.
Let me be.
Let me be.
Let me be.
Let me be.