Cannonball Becomes the One Armed Man

My friend got drunk at a poetry reading. We went down to Union Square.
We were hungry like a New York City band, and I cut off my hand.
It grew back. My hands are like that.
Yeah, sometimes, my hands grow back.
The world was small. The size of a house.
But the world was always out to get us.
You're probably just a pathological liar, and I don't trust that type.
You're just another clinically proven formula to drive me insane.
Someone in the mud tonight stole half of my heart.
And I sold my art.
Recently, my tendons have been severing themselves,
and I once was lost. Now I'm found.
Recently, the surgeons amputated my left arm,
and the one on the right is as good as new.
Dancing in the woods last night,
we saw a giant bat.
I screamed, "what is that?!"
So make some fucking noise. You've only got a few more years.
Everything you do will outlive you.
So make some fucking noise. I know you can do it.
I'm the one armed man. Even I can.
Don't think you're safe!
Don't think you're safe! I want everyone to be obese,
except for me, 'cause I can't do that to myself.
Don't think you're safe.
Don't think you're safe! I want everyone to be obese,
so I can feed them to the parasite living in the shadow of the door,
to the room where I was handcuffed, beaten, and
taken away, by a group of rogue federal agents.
Almost killed me completely.
Thanks to the dissociative fugue state that I'm in,
and a lack of sleep and hydration,
I am here, with my guitar, singing to you.
(2, 3, 4!)
Hey, I'm the one armed man. I can walk, but I can't talk.
This will be your last day in the mud. Tonight, I'm taking you away.