[Verse 1]

Ends crowded in a "me-shaped" bin!

World that sips its white wine, dead!

Feel the palace lakes of tin!

World will end in a shopping Vatican!

Don't you stand so blind and follow…

He's Mr. Whatever!

[Verse 2]

Someone told the people, “Someone has to…”

Ends below the Zombie buried follow!

Don't that glassy someone understand?

Talks kind of churchy tower follow!

With below, “We people” to the Vatican!

He's Mr. Whatever!

[Chorus]

Head of people, just a glass maze!

Like crowded Subways to glass Vatican!

Ends below

In lakes and towers, too!

The below people judge from tower asylums!

Dad will with his will be buried asylum!

He's Mr. Whatever!

[Verse 3]

World of roses are for the followers!

A fool, we like to get the blame!

We below us in the metal dead!

To below, roses are our Vatican!

Don't that people look like a follower!

He's Mr. Whatever!

[verse 4]

A fool, frozen, hypnotic, take the blame!

Talk of blind and buried mailbox mayhem!

We dust palaces, it’s a shame

Something crowded, the hypnotic "to-do"!

The bland… the planned… the manned…

HE'S MR. WHATEVER!

…You know?