You Say Your Image Is New, But

How Was I Conceived? Was It Love, Was I Meant, Or Was I Just An Accident?

You Make Alterations, Affecting Your Pose, A New House, A New Car, A New Job, A New Nose.

Standing In The Middle Of Nowhere, Wondering How To Begin. Lost Between Tomorrow And Yesterday, Between Now And Then.

In The End You Become Part Of Everything You Hate, Basically.

There Was A Gas Strike, Oil Strike, Lorry Strike, Bread Strike, Got To Be A Superman To Survive.