"I think I'm trapped!"
Cried the woman,
Surrounded by newspaper,
Glass bottles
And magazines stacked to the roof.
Bird cages.
Not one, but TWO big old boats
In the front yard.
Tarpaulin (not weather-proofed).
She does that thing with her hands that she does
When she's in an inconsolable state of panic.
As you can see, she has a problem.
She thinks she needs it all,
And there's just years worth of stuff
Piled and blocking each entrance (and exit) of the house,
She's well and truly fucked
She tries to find a phone but all she finds is radios!
People, what we see is a girl in pain. A girl in pain
A little house on a cul-de-sac
Filled to the brim with trinkets, with bric-à-brac
Pop culture memorabilia.
Clothing stacks.
And not to mention the 14 or 15 cats.
Sink filled with plates and teacups and vermin traps.
Frantic, a hat stand falls and trips her over.
And though at first it's all still intact,
A towering pile of pamphlets (and other crap)
Topples and tumbles down and then bam! It smacks
The back of her head. Her vision tunes out to black.
And all she can hear is the crackling of a fire
Igniting from a shattered old oil lantern!
Folks, all we see is a girl in pain.
A girl in pain
But to some, in the depths of space, she's the perfect brain
The perfect brain
All dials were turned somehow to 49 at the same damn time
On those vintage radios -
A transmission flow!
A surge of something suddenly starts seeping in
Through skull and skin.
Her mind is flooded out with foreign memories