Tortured by harmony that should be set free.
I realised the danger of not being me.
I thought about how they try to put me down.
Like some kind of freak or some sad old clown.
The idea was simple, f*****g up was not my scene.
I may be some things but i'm not a........ has been.
Some come to worship, some come to sing.
Some escape danger but still do there own thing.
Some sit in silence by the telephone.
Some have many friends but feel totally alone.
Regressing into madness would seem almost sane,
to some poor country boy left out in the rain.
But hopefully the city would teach love and not hate,
to the poor confused youth before it was to late.
I'll tell you a riddle, I'll sing you a song.
But at the end of the day we all know right from wrong.
And the story teller is simply the person that shines through you,
a budding awareness out of a sea of blue.