The brain is always just a bit behind,
It's sensing information from my eyes
It takes a half a second then I find
The things I see and touch and realise.
My magic box inside my silly head
My little muscle filled with magic light,
The thing that keeps me living when I'm dead,
That shows me pictures in the darkest night.
Does anybody really understand
Does anybody really, really know
Exactly how things go from my hand
Exactly where it is that we all go?
They used to treat your burning skin with fat,
But now the cure's the opposite of that.