Got that postcard hangin' up. A couple magnets hold in place all that's left of an unlikely dream. My favorite form of torture, to read it twice a week; I think I've sunken far beyond the point of a healthy mental state ever surfacing. You're just a character now and I'm recreating Different acts where you snap out Of that motherfuckin' hypnotist's trance. Up to the front stage take your bow. Though you blew all your lines and scenes No one cares you did it masterfully. Hear it? They're all applauding at the improv you displayed Meanwhile I'm pacing back and forth Another storyboard is drawn and left for waste. World's best protagonist fails in every script I've written. I'm trapped in repeat plot lines all Foiled by a motherfuckin' hypnotist's spell. Keep your headlights pointed south. (repeated)