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Taunted and troubled, he raises his hand |
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Draws his fist, lets it all fall loose again |
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He's chained to his life, it's a walking, talking death |
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And he's losing his grip with every passing breath |
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Weary eyed and weak, he pulls himself up |
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Tries to take a drink, but he drinks from an empty cup |
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Yellow running down his back, blue across his face |
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He was giving his colors in the human race |
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Well his features are worn, there's darkness in his eyes |
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Some say madness--it's the perfect state of mind |
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He hears a rumbling silence that's louder than any words |
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To him it has more to offer than anything he's ever heard |
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So tell me, where can he go, which way can he face? |
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Does the wind blow |
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For another nameless face? |
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What's another nameless face |
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In another nameless place |
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So what's another nameless face |
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Well, some people say |
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Blue is for insanity, yellow is for shame |
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Colors might just tell you things |
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Should not be explained |
