Haywire

You want to talk about things you won’t understand?
Then give me your ears
Put them in my hands
Give me your hands, put them over my ears
So I don’t have to hear a thing I say
If it makes me think
I can’t talk about things I don’t understand
So I leave it here
In empty hands
And I leave off the ink so I don’t have to think
Or sink that low ever again
Because my memory of what’s good
Is leaving me, I knew it would
That part of me makes no sense
'Cause that part of me is my conscience