Tune me into the wild side of life,
I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife,
Take me to the garretts where the artists have died,
Show me the court rooms where the judges have lied.
Let me drink deeply from the water and the wine,
Light coloured candles in dark dreary mines,
Look in the mirror and stare at myself,
And wonder if that's really me on the shelf.
And each day I learn just a little bit more,
I don't know why but I do know what for,
If we're all going somewhere let's get there soon,
The son's got no title just words and a tune.
Take me down alleys where the murders are done,
In a vast high powered rocket to the core of the sun,
Want to read books in the studys of men,
Born on the breeze and die on the wind.
If I was an artist who paints with his eyes,
I'd study my subject and silently cry.
Cry for the darkenss to come down on me,
For confusion to carry on turning the wheel.