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Description
There's a man in the bar passing out coins,
he told me to enjoy the world, enjoy the word.

I thought for a moment if I was as lucky as him,
as free as him.
As sick as him?
If only for a moment
or a child's whim.
Could I enjoy life for once
without living in sin?

And the meetings where we sit
every Thursday at 8.
The local bars open, but we come here to stay late?

It's my turn for show and tell,
but all I do is drink,
so I drew a bath of your forgotten tears
to watch our reflection sink.

No one understood the boy
they say sat quietly looking down.
They found no threat,
but now regret
the boy they call a monster.
But they made him who he was that day.
A creature of habit.
A creature in vain.
A creature of god born in the flesh.
A reason for some to cry and confess.
The beast of the woman laying in wait.
The face of a man without shame or refrain.
The mask which he shares with his father's name.
The thing we forget when we kneel to pray.
The front page of the paper for weeks after that day.
The child of my mother so easily sold
in a place fit for this monster to write in the cold.

Description
There's a man in the bar passing out coins,
he told me to enjoy the world, enjoy the word.

I thought for a moment if I was as lucky as him,
as free as him.
As sick as him?
If only for a moment
or a child's whim.
Could I enjoy life for once
without living in sin?

And the meetings where we sit
every Thursday at 8.
The local bars open, but we come here to stay late?

It's my turn for show and tell,
but all I do is drink,
so I drew a bath of your forgotten tears
to watch our reflection sink.

No one understood the boy
they say sat quietly looking down.
They found no threat,
but now regret
the boy they call a monster.
But they made him who he was that day.
A creature of habit.
A creature in vain.
A creature of god born in the flesh.
A reason for some to cry and confess.
The beast of the woman laying in wait.
The face of a man without shame or refrain.
The mask which he shares with his father's name.
The thing we forget when we kneel to pray.
The front page of the paper for weeks after that day.
The child of my mother so easily sold
in a place fit for this monster to write in the cold.