I had a little monkey I sent him to the country and I fed him on ginger bread
 Along came a choo-choo, knoked my monkey coo-coo, and now my monkey's dead
 At least he looks that way, but then again don't we all?
 
 What I make is what I am
 I can't be forever
 
 'make you, break you, make you, break you, lookout'
 We are our own wicked gods, with little g's and big dicks
 sadistic and constantly inflicting a slow demise
 
 the primate's scream of consonance is a reflection
 of his own mind's dissonance