See him walking slowly, fire burns in his eyes
Leers just like a commie, the whole world he’ll despise
It’s winter in Chicago, the cold wind bites his mane
Just ask anybody, they’ll tell you he’s insane

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His mind ain’t his
His mind ain’t his
His mind ain’t his
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Don’t know many women, ain’t no girls know him
The sun has set on Cleveland, the sky looks pretty grim
He lost at cards in Cuba, moved to ol’ D.C.
Ain’t got no connections, lives in a fantasy

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-Guitar solo-

Drove through Louisiana, bound for New Orleans
Found a brand new scene there, more than what it seems
Met a girl on Bourbon, was the voodoo queen
Treats him like a human, loves like a machine

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-outro-