My skin used to be a disaster
When to a musical chair I clung
Waiting for the needle to drop
Ah, Dr. Zizmor

I was rich by virtue of being born
Laughing at abuses of power
'Till I felt, at age thirteen, a power
beyond my control
Dr. Zizmor

Oh no

And when I sat down in your chair
The ghost of a song held me down
As instruments you did prepare
The room was spinning

The last thing I remember that day
Your needle, doctor, descending
Descending, like it was spelunking
But never touching

Zizmor