They're out to get you aren't they?
The kids, the man, the chicks, the breaks
They don't care what you think anymore
It doesn't matter anyway
Joan of Arc, victim, perpetrator
Just a paper machete
The truth is just a piece of clay
You sculpt, you change, you hide then you erase
You think you're brave? All the plans you made
Behind my back and from far away?
Truth is, face to face, you're a coward
Sharp as a paper machete