There's a man who lives down the street,
he wears nothing but dirt on his feet,
if you ask him his name,
he'll say he was framed,
and notice the sky's not complete.

He lives by himself in the park,
his ****** expressions are stark,
he always lies,
but when he closes his eyes,
he sees something besides the dark.

You've walked past him before,
his mouth agape like a door,
his hands long to hold,
a warmth that's now cold,
a light shining inside a drawer,
a light spilling across the floor,
a light easiest to ignore,
the light in his head,
will shine til he's dead,
don't be blind anymore.