“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