“Attacked”
(Brad Kleiman)

The cars still go,
but they shouldn't
Even when they're slow,
they're too fast

The cars still move,
but they shouldn't
Even rides so smooth
feel like attacks

An attack on my senses,
an attack on my mood
I'm on the defensive
I'm being pursued


The crowds still cheer,
but they shouldn't
Even when they're sincere,
it looks like an act

They huddle near,
but they shouldn't
They have no fear,
but I fear I've been attacked

An attack on my senses,
an attack on my mood
I'm on the defensive
I'm being pursued