It's the demolition derby, it's the sport of the hunt
Proud tribe in full war-dance, it's the slow smile that the bully gives the runt
it's the force of inertia, it's the lack of constraint
it's the children out playing in the rock garden all dolled-up in black hats and war paint
Sometimes it feels like bars of steel I cannot bend with my hands
O-o-oh - I worry too much
Somebody told me that I worry too much
O-o-oh - I worry too much
Somebody told me that I worry tooooo much
It's these sandpaper eyes, it's the way they rub the luster from what is seen