One day I was thinking to myself,
After all the things I've been told,
I don't think that for the world I'd
Give up my dream, even to the death
I'll keep going until I get old.
If I told you what my dream was you'd laugh
or be angry at me, but then again,
Whoever understood me would be
Few and far between, and so this is truly
How my lonely struggle came to be.
Well, I guess I've said enough already,
or have I really?
The world is filled with people making a "change,"
shooting in war, violence, building walls, working
Too much, being alone in a corner, shades, strange.
"One day they will get theirs!" I say-but lucky for them,
They have a whole lot of padding and cushion
So they can just keep bellying up to the bar again
And again and again...