On a morning in a town called Lostville,
‘Twas a ten-year-old who’s in his prime,
And a young man pining for that Nembutal pill,
Contemplating a crime

Stealing money, acting stupid, as he’s running,
Giving unimaginable pain,
Don't bother asking for explanations
He'll just tell you that he came
In the year of the Cam…

He doesn't give you time for questions
As he makes you wish you’d get hurt
And you follow 'till your sense of which direction
Completely disappears

By the beige office walls near the cleaning stalls
There's a hidden door he leads you to
These days, he says, “i HaTe mY LiFe?!?!?”
Just like a killer running through
The year of the Cam…

While he looks at you so dumbly
And his hair’s blond, that kid sure is ugly,
He loves the playground, thinks he’s spooky
So you take him to find what's waiting inside
The year of the Cam…

Well, morning comes and you're still with him
And the pain and suffering aren’t gone
And you've thrown away your love, you've lost your ticket
So you have to stay on

But the drum-beat strains of the night remain
Hear those “Jism Strokes” by Herbie Kaye,
You know sometime you're bound to leave him
But for now you're going to stay
In the year of the Cam,

…Year of the Cam…