I'm sick of reality it has me devastated
Had my fill of sanity free will is overrated
Independent thoughts can only lead me to frustration
Wrap your arms around me oh quiet desolation
Free me of identity and mold me to your whimsy
Erase every memory create new versions of me
Tell me what to be it would give me such elation
Living underneath your thumb in quiet desolation
I would spend my dying days face down upon your floor
I would spend my waking moments your personal whore
If perchance you find the novelty is there no more
Just keep me in your living room, I'll make such fine decor
I'll make such fine decor