Our guise is that of an apparition
Enthralled in the vanity of self-worship
Our robe, our crown, as much a part of us
As the very marrow in our bones

We'll have you begging for your mother in the morning
Your father is out
He's damn right he should be worried

They'll call you Jane Doe
They'll call you Jane Doe

One in a million, one and the same
One empty chamber, one less to blame
One in a million, one and the same
One empty chamber, one less to blame

This is a failing institution and I've failed to notice

I've learned not to despise this sentiment
Complacency invokes atrophy's embrace
And so what if I can't leave this room
That's never stopped us before, before