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[Psiklone]My name is Dean Emit, victim of a serious mistakeDiagnosed as clinically insaneSectioned, imprisoned and detainedThe last thing I remember I was being physically restrainedFirst sensed something was amissNoticing the other inmates had cuts across their wristsMy trust in the nurses hesitatedInstantly ceased taking medication (Waiting)They segregated selective mental patientsI once caught a glimpse of the room where they'd take themReasons why remain undisclosedA hundred volts straight to the victim's frontal lobesDisguised as medical testsVulnerable people were being sentenced to death(This is beyond madness) I had to escapeSpent night and day racking my brainInsomniac, but I had no solid planOne day in group therapy, eventually lost my rag (Is this some kind of sick joke?) Next thing I knew, a doctor pushed me straight through a windowAwoke later in my bed, as my mind clearedA pain in my side sparking the ideaTied up without side effects Shook loose the undetected shard of glass from behind my vestHeart pounding inside my chestLetras de cancionesManaged to slice my restraints, fell down beside my bedStood up, pulled off the ceiling's iron meshClimbed the winding vent entangled in spider websExited down a flight of stepsDitched my hospital gown so the dogs won't find the scentFelt the cold wind on my faceBlinded by the moonlight, my mental prison escape[Possessed]His name was Doctor Emit institutionalisedFor committing the most unusual crimesTorturing patients numerous times'Till one escaped, brought the truth to the lightLosing his mind but kept it top secretUnnecessary methods of shock treatmentNo waiting list kept going till the power diedOr the patient did, which ever came firstHe was a slave to his hunger withinTied them up sewed razors under their skinEyes void of emotionWhen asked why he did it, he just said the voices had spokenInsane, locked in a cellDementia in control of all knowledge of selfDay to day he'd yell about the crimesLike he didn't do them and they're still taking placeSwimming in the depths of depression Volatile, living on the edge of aggression Never did get a confession (Flipped out) during a routine group therapy sessionWhen asked "are you scared of the past?"He jumped up by the window put his chair through the glassDemented look in his faceGuards took him away put him to bed fully restrained Didn't bother drugging him up The next morning they walked in and saw him covered in bloodShould've known from behaviour patterns That this was a suicide waiting to happenLife he came to hate with a passion Shard to the wrist, fatal attractionExamining the evil deed There it was on the floor the jagged killer that didn't flee the scene Broken Window[4 x Outro]Window to the soul, brokenNow his ghost is out in the open From Letras Mania