It’s a Freudian complex
The easier it is the harder I try to get out of it
I’m the first to admit it
When the cigarette’s lit only to be extinguished
It’s a groucho complex
You don’t love me anyway
You’re better of with out me (at least that’s what I’ll say)

It depends on the light I’m only suicidal tonight
On the outside looking in
My self destructisism’s my only fight
Cause I don’t play to win

Try to put my finger on it
Then frustrated put my fist through the sheetrock
Wish I could say it keeps me honest
But I know all in all
It has not come to grips with detachment disorder
Self diagnosis so don’t need to hear it from nobody
Then retire to my quarters
In the midst of a grip of what’d be perceived as OCDS

It depends on the light I’m only suicidal tonight
On the outside looking in
My self destructisism’s my only fight
Cause I don’t play to win