Automatic Blues (Prophet Chuck)

Well, some things I'm built for fixin' Make more sense to throw away The touch of something human What I really crave Oh, just give me one thing I can sink my heart into Not another measure Of these automatic blues, come on, come on Well, the preacher preached the sermon Sinners bow their heads Sometimes I feel so alive I wish I was dead You might be on your back somewhere, baby Too beaten up in your pew Would Sunday lift the curtain On the automatic blues? Come on Hey, turn me on, turn me off Turn me out, turn me on I said, turn me off, turn me on Turn me out, turn me on I feel like a pair of sneakers In a washing machine I'm bouncing off the walls Trapped in the heap Goddamn, thermostat's gone crazy I woke up with the flu Wrapped up in a blanket With the automatic blues, come on Hey, come on Get a hold on me Get a hold on me I want somebody to tell me Where can my baby be