"The only people for me are the mad ones somebody said,"
Now that somebody's dead.
Well how mad did he get? How mad did he get?
How mad do we get? How mad do we get?
Or was it all in my head?
Was I spending too much time hanging out in the red?
Not a dollar to my name, only a loaf of bread,
and some butter to spread on it.
Barely making rent, working till I'm dead,
sleeping in the shed, feeling frustrated, exasperated.
And I'm tired of doing dishes and pushing paper all day long.
I'd rather be with the fishes, or on the beach singing songs
With the one that I love.
I got a crick in my neck from bending over backwards for everyone
that I've ever met, and now they never come around.
"If you're not upset, then you're not paying attention,"
that's what somebody said.
Now that somebody's dead, got shot in the chest
thinking he was the best like everyone else.
And I'm tired of making wishes and always being on the run.
I'd rather get sentimental under the stars in the Caribbean
With the one that I love.
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