I hear voices, they tell me to stop
Why should I listen, they’ve never felt the drop
They hide in corners behind the pretty girls
In their gold in their gold in their gold
One minute to a, one minute to a, one minute to midnight

My soul you can have it cause it don’t mean shit
I’d sell it to the devil for another hit
And midnight is coming and I wish that you were here

I hear voices, echo in my brain
They don’t like it cause I’m not dressed the same
They hunt for rabbits just like Yosemite Sam
Say your prayers, say your prayers, say your prayers
One minute to a, one minute to a, one minute to midnight
My soul you can have it cause it don’t mean shit
I’ll sell it to the devil for another hit
And midnight is coming and I wish that you were here
My soul you can have it cause it don’t mean shit
I’ll sell it to the devil for another hit
And midnight is coming and I wish that you were here

There’s no need to fall, there’s no need at all

Out of control on my own trying to find my way back
How did I end up here
And into darkness I walk as the world goes on by
Out of control on my own trying to find my way back
How did I end up here
And into darkness I walk as the world goes on by

I hear voices they tell me to stop
I hear voices they tell me to stop
I hear voices they tell me to stop
I hear voices they tell me to stop

– Kasabian, “I hear voices”

I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn’t know who I was — I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I’d never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really DIDN’T KNOW WHO I WAS for about fifteen strange seconds. I WASN’T SCARED; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost. I was halfway across America, at the dividing line between the East of my youth and the West of my future.

– J. Kerouac, “On The Road” (Sal, Ch. 3)
– Ph.: “Alice entering wonderland”