Letra de Tillary

A silly thing, it eats at me, keeps me up, I admit An ugly need you don’t hide I can’t help but to see Gets you hard, makes you wet, thrilled to talk and to vent Let me know, tell me twice and again and again The brutal truth of the thing Is you need to control to feel free Your own life it’s a pit, luck is late to each event Job is lame, so are friends, simple math, less than shit Appoint yourself, take an oath, rally troops, affix a lens Letter sent, lecture held, you’re center stage just for a bit The brutal truth of the thing is you need to control to feel free No Gods, No Masters you sing but you sure love playing police Mr. Officer what are my charges? Mr. Officer I want to speak in my defense Mr. Officer what are my charges? Mr. Officer I need the numbers on your badge I don't trust you with evidence Your moves and motives they don't match I want to speak in my defense