| Pulled my hat down low, hid a dagger in my cloak
|
| Took a shovel and a gun, and a length of rope
|
| By the monster moon I will walk the night
|
| With a hollow heart to scandalize and twist the knife
|
| I turn, turn from the sun
|
| Oh, the feeling, oh, the feeling
|
| I turn, turn from the sun
|
| Oh, the feeling, oh, the feeling
|
| I read the books they wrote, of my wanton deeds
|
| But I’ll block the page with ink and change my history
|
| Til my leper soul, long shrunk and stained
|
| Might crack the door and dare to step outside again
|
| I turn towards the sun
|
| What a feeling, what a feeling
|
| I turn, turn to the sun
|
| What a feeling, what a feeling
|
| It took me 40 years to bear the gaze
|
| Of the old looking glass and not flinch when I saw my face
|
| Now my greatest fear to be exposed
|
| Has become the thing I find I need the most
|
| I learned to love the sun
|
| What a feeling, what a feeling
|
| So I learned to love the sun
|
| What a feeling, what a feeling |