They say you're suffering The sweetest kind of illness of the brain And there's no way you'll ever go insane While I'm a loser I feel it all and let it all hang out And pay for it with all the things I doubt But your head is buried in my Garden It wasn't me who put it there Cause I didn't make it but I like to be Polite and beg your pardon And each one's a prayer I shoot it out where I can never see I like to make a fool out of me To get the sting inside I've wrestled with my eagle far too long I'll say I did it all for a song But don't you go thinking that I love you I would like to mean it and for you to receive it But I honestly believe that I'm above you