Where are the nice boys...
with books in their hands??

Picked up my guitar
I forgot I could play
I brushed the dust back
Back from my grave
No more, no way
Will I be death's slave!

I started to jam
Wining again
Pick myself up
I can even play
Van Helan
Where the hell have I been?
I've been keeping all of me in
I'd rather live
Live to the end!

And all who suffer
The ignorance of man
I play my guitar
As tied are my hands
Yet free is our voices
So let us be heard
Giving up
It just seems absurd!

I am inspired by things unseen,
Like the air that helps me breathe
For without it we are mere dust.
So why then do you asked,
"How can you believe in a god
You cannot see?"