All the witch doctors are conspiring against me
Their ghost threads and offerings mix into my psyche
No they don't know the weight of the beaten track
and the poor souls who spent their penny
trying to bring me into their lives
The tables full of herbs and roots and spells of attack
Not single a incantation distracts me from the track
And even as I'm checking out of this supermarket world
I deny them the change but never the goodbye
over the counter desperation in her eyes
As if we owe some obedience like a royal garter
But not a piece of anyone can be bartered
This world is not a convenient transaction
You insist your credit buys magical spells quick reactions
There are no formulas you can adhere to free yourself
or at the end of it all renew your health
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