| I’m sitting here, in the abandoned brain, | 
| Waiting for take off in it. | 
| They says its never going to work again, | 
| But I can spare a few minutes. | 
| Been here before, in the abandoned brain, | 
| There’s flowers on all the controls. | 
| The tape keeps telling me again and again, | 
| That I’m the keeper of souls. | 
| The wind blows hard, on the abandoned brain, | 
| But there’s nobody thinking at all. | 
| The hyperthalamus is open to the rain, | 
| And the leaves sweep in to the hall. | 
| There’s no one else, in the abandoned brain, | 
| But that’s not necessarily bad. | 
| It feeds on itself and its not insane, | 
| This brains too old to go mad. | 
| Roses bloom, in the abandoned brain, | 
| And thoughts run wild on the floor; | 
| Like a headless corpse, a derailed train, | 
| Who could ask for anything more? | 
| I’m sitting here, in the abandoned brain, | 
| Waiting for take off in it. | 
| They say its never going to work again, | 
| But I can spare a few minutes. |