As a kid The grandma told his folks “This boy has something strange A mild dissarange”
He stares at window panes Keeps himself company For every simple task He shapes reality Oh, woe is he!
On and on, there are places we go but never come back the same Unsheltered, where is the roof I used to know? Off we go, I’ll send out the light I wish for. I write and I sing some folklore, hoping for future brighter days
Raised with care Those worries silenced fast But how could they predict The voices wouldn’t rest
Some said addiction Well, others just loneliness The astros said It’s fine Anyway, who’s to say what’s right?