There is no soul, life is what you make it, 
My body's not some conduit, 
It's a system in itself. 

There's no soul, my brain is not some prison, 
It's an ever-changing prism, 
Through which I see the world. 

 [bad word] to my senses, I see what is real. 
Through all my pretences, I finally feel. 

When something evil takes a hold. hold of you. 
Oh don't you pretend it has control, 
Of the things that you do.