And with the early dawn,
Moving right along, I couldn't buy an eye-full of sleep.
And in the aching night under satellites, I was not received.
Built with stolen parts, a telephone in my heart, someone get me a priest to put my mind to bed.
This ringing in my head, is this a cure or is this a disease?
Nail in my hand, from my creator.
You gave me life, now show me how to live.