You want to talk about things you won't understand?

Then give me your ears

Put them in my hands

Give me your hands, put them over my ears

So I don't have to hear a thing I say

If it makes me think

I can't talk about things I don't understand

So I leave it here

In empty hands

And I leave off the ink so I don't have to think

Or sink that low ever again

Because my memory of what's good

Is leaving me, I knew it would

That part of me makes no sense

'Cause that part of me is my conscience