(B. Walkenhorst)

Who am I, I don't know, I have no idea

When my friends look at me I wonder who they think they're seeing

Search me, layer by layer

But inside I'm afraid you'll find thin air

Yeah, yes, guess again

Who we might be underneath this skin

What makes me tick? How should I know,

I've been trained like a monkey

The bell rings and I start to jones like a junkie

What turns me on? I wish I knew

Wish I could tell the real thing

My honest desire from my conditioning

Touch me now, now touch me again

I want to feel something real coming through this skin

I've been boxing with my shadow, winded and tagged

I can't punch my way our of a paper bag

It's as thick as you think, thin as the reasoning you bought

I'm a mummy wrapped in a gauze of my own thoughts

And I want to know who I'd be

If I never had bathed in the static, the snow, and the radio wave

The flickering image, the pandering thought

That's been passed off and on

To be the blueprint of God

Hey yes, guess again

Who we might be if we could shed this skin