He walks in his life
afraid of all the people he carries a knife
and he'll never find his switch blade wife
cause she's got an agenda
she's got a noiseproof helmet and she doesn't intend
to take it off for anyone
and who could've blamed her
the media maimed her
the boy he's a stranger
a nighttime arranger
always in danger
of losing his temper
a captive of anger
a babe in a manger
and the mother mother
she says make like a good boy and follow your brother
down the champagne lane of superstars who go insane
and the father father
always had the chance but never wanted to bother
he just sits around with his wine glass full and a flipped up collar
and who could've blamed him
the battle had drained him
the enemies claimed him
the prisonmen chained him
alone in a strange land
nobody named him
he made up his own plans
he built it with his hands
now the room feels empty
a breeze it blows across the sky moving gently
towards the other side, a mystic roller coaster ride
and all the little people
dress up all in black and gather in the steeple
and they hold their hands and remember the dear old man
and who could have gave him
a medal for brave men
who do nothing else
but save other poor men
he lended his own hand
did everything he can
but who could've paved him
the road to redemption
