Your empty eyes seem to pass me by and leave me dancing with myself.
I am hopelessly divided between the dark and the good, the rebel and the saint, the sex maniac and the monk, the poet and the priest, the demagogue and the populist. Pen to paper, I put it all down - I'm out on a limb here, so watch my back.
I'm not talking with an American accent. I haven't gone off and become Sammy Hagar.
Such a human waste, your eyes without a face.
If your world doesn't allow you to dream, move to one where you can.
If I only had the chance, I'd ask one to dance, and I'd be dancing with myself.