|
The burning of that first cigarette |
|
Is enough to make me half-way forget |
|
That there's no place where I feel at home |
|
I guess that I was just born to roam |
|
Buses, trains and other people's cars |
|
Are the means by which I gaze at the stars |
|
Loose change from strangers here and there |
|
Gives me a little hope that someone cares |
|
Sure, I'm an able-bodied man |
|
People think I should work and that I can |
|
But it's not my hands that put me in a bind |
|
It's a problem the good lord gave my mind |
|
Well, I've cried, believe me |
|
I've begged madness to leave me |
|
And like anyone, I didn't ask to be born |
|
But I'm here anyway and I'm one of those who is torn |
|
In pieces, pieces of a man |
|
If I could choose to change, I would, god knows |
|
But my thoughts go where the cold wind blows |
|
And they say give credit where credit is due |
|
I've never had any credit, so I don't feel like they do |
|
Who knows why some are broken from the start? |
|
I guess the rules are made up by someone who's smart |
|
If that's the case, I wish they'd figure us out |
|
And tell us where to go and what's it all about |
|
Well, I've cried, believe me |
|
I've begged madness to leave me |
|
And like anyone, I didn't ask to be born |
|
But I'm here anyway and I'm one of those who is torn |
|
In pieces, pieces of a man |
|
In pieces, in pieces |
|
In pieces, in pieces |
|
In pieces, in pieces |
|
In pieces, in pieces |
