Texty: Weezer. Death To False Metal. Auto-Pilot.

When I wake at the break of the morning
I ingest my two fried eggs
If a grain of the salt is missing
Then I go to the store and beg

Autopilot,
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh, yeah-yeah
I've got to get off
The autopilot,
Whoa-oh-oh-oh-oh, yeah-yeah,
It's pissin' me off


When I walk to the park with my doggies
I collect all the things they leave
Then I put them up under the microscope
And I'm so impressed by what I see

There is passion in my heartache, heartache
Though I'm trained to stay in this state, this state
Ain't no matter how hard I try, I try
I will be here until I die, I die