| Well, as a child I mostly spoke inside my head
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| I had conversations with the clouds, the dogs, the dead
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| And they thought me broken, that my tongue was coated lead
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| But I just couldn’t make my words make sense to them
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| If you only listen with your ears… I can’t get in
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| And I spent my evenings pulling stars out of the sky
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| And I’d arrange them on the lawn where I would lie
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| And in the wind I’d taste the dreams of distant lives
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| And I would dress myself up in them through the night
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| While my folks would sleep in separate beds… and wonder why
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| And through them days I was a ghost atop my chair
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| My dad considered me a cross he had to bear
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| And in my head I’d sing apologies and stare
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| As my mom would hang the clothes across the line
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| And she would try to keep the empty… from her eyes
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| So, then one afternoon I dressed myself alone
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| I packed my pillowcase with everything I owned
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| And in my head I said «goodbye,» then I was gone
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| And I set out on the heels of the unknown
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| So my folks could have a new life of their own
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| And that maybe I could find someone
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| Who could hear the only words that I’d known
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| Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh
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| Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh
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| Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh
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| Ooh ooh ooh ooh ooh |