Manufactured Missing Children

Everyone is born inside a photo-booth here
With stolen days and birthdays
It makes no sense
They have to be told to fill what they feel
These manufactured missing children are really here

They're innocent, they're innocent, not innocent at all
They're innocent, not innocent, not innocent at all

The yellow man in a wheelchair won't let me sleep
Lemonade and scrambled eggs are all that he'll eat
It's why I go inside myself

And I'm innocent, I'm innocent, not innocent at all
There's nothing left to see here
There's nothing left to see
There's nothing left to see here
There's nothing left to see
Nothing is ever wrong with me