I've been having nightmares every single night
of vintage theater goers screaming out of in fright.


And all iconic head gear descending to the floor.
I tell you, Mr. therapist, I can't take it no more.


Every night I'm flying, every night I'm led
in the back of Abraham Lincoln's head.


I wake up in darkness, every single time.
My residence is currently a presidential mind.


But memories are hazy. A man lept to the stage.
"Sic semper tyrannis", he shouts and runs away.


I guess he'd seen the play, so he choose not to stay.
Please help me, Mr. Therapist. Please make it go away.


Every night I'm flying, every night I'm led
in the back of Abraham Lincoln's head.