Breathe a sigh of relief, we’re not all hiding under the sheets.
Mother’s son, beautifully dressed, but walks the streets only in his vest.
I’m here again, nothing’s changed, I’m flying through on my drifting plain.
And I graced the earth with my views, you don’t wanna hear well that’s up to you.

Say what you want about me, cos I don’t believe what I read so I don’t mind,
you see you have no clue of where I’m going to.

White feathered medicine is what I crave, and all’s forgiven.
And their fragile wings and delicate cries comfort me and my bleeding eyes.

See beyond a weary face, you’re all the same and there’s a pretty little face.
It says nothing to me about who I am, I’ve got nothing to burn only your sorry hands.

Time to put a stop to it. I had to put up with it. Now I’m sick and tired of it so
take your views to some other avenue.

I don’t care, do as you please, your crying face and begging on your knees.
I know what to do, so leave me be. I’ve got this feeling it could be the death of me.
I circle round the view I’m in. I wait for days, my patience wearing thin.
And I wait for you, tirelessly, nothing gained I just fall to sleep.

So you’re writing a letter now, I’m taking a look, while you’re signing with kisses and talk of how much you want to help me write and I ride into the sky