| He lived his life
|
| As though it was a movie
|
| Humphrey Bogart
|
| Was his god
|
| He’d become the book
|
| That he was reading
|
| He locked his mind in
|
| Fantasy
|
| He lived his life
|
| As though it was a movie
|
| Humphrey Bogart
|
| Was his god
|
| He’d become the book
|
| That he was reading
|
| Locked his mind in
|
| Fantasy
|
| But he never complained
|
| When it started to rain
|
| He just waited for the pennies from heaven
|
| He would hold out his hand
|
| In a, gesture so grand
|
| Everybody wondered what he’s been given
|
| Yes they did
|
| To live his life and dream
|
| Was all he wanted
|
| And his name was Solitaire, yeah
|
| He never felt one of the crowded nation
|
| And if he’s insane
|
| What am I
|
| Wander down a corridor
|
| Carpeted from wall to wall
|
| Jump into a swimming pool
|
| And watch your mind swim
|
| Living is a tragedy
|
| Though it doesn’t mean to be
|
| Whaddya think your mother is
|
| And what is she for, heh
|
| He lived his life
|
| As though it was a movie
|
| Humphrey Bogart
|
| Was his god
|
| He’d become every book
|
| That he was a reading
|
| Locked his mind in
|
| Fantasy, yes, yes
|
| Trouble
|
| Trouble
|
| Trouble
|
| Trouble
|
| Trouble |