The Paranoid Investigator.
Here I lay in the bed, just thinking, all alone,
I am looking intently at the ceiling above.
My eyes are beginning to weigh like a stone.
There is something there, maybe a glove.
This room was overflowing with love and passion,
What went wrong in this room of love?
Is it the lack of sympathetic for fashion?
We will never understand, neither will a dove.
My brain has never been under such stress,
This mystery must be revealed to the public.
When I am under this pressure I play chess.
It is always a possibility that it is the republic.
Where are the answers for this outlandish mystery?
This will be remembered thought-out history
I am looking intently at the ceiling above.
My eyes are beginning to weigh like a stone.
There is something there, maybe a glove.
This room was overflowing with love and passion,
What went wrong in this room of love?
Is it the lack of sympathetic for fashion?
We will never understand, neither will a dove.
My brain has never been under such stress,
This mystery must be revealed to the public.
When I am under this pressure I play chess.
It is always a possibility that it is the republic.
Where are the answers for this outlandish mystery?
This will be remembered thought-out history