| Taunted and troubled, he raises his hand
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| Draws his fist, lets it all fall loose again
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| He’s chained to his life, it’s a walking, talking death
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| And he’s losing his grip with every passing breath
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| Weary eyed and weak, he pulls himself up
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| Tries to take a drink, but he drinks from an empty cup
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| Yellow running down his back, blue across his face
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| He was givin his colors in the human race
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| Well his features are worn, there’s darkness in his eyes
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| Some say madness--it's the perfect state of mind
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| He hears a rumbling silence that’s louder than any words
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| To him it has more to offer than anything he’s ever heard
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| So tell me, where can he go, which way can he face?
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| Does the wind blow
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| For another nameless face?
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| What’s another nameless face
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| In another nameless place
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| So what’s another nameless face
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| Well, some people say
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| Blue is for insanity, yellow is for shame
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| Colors might just tell you things
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| Should not be explained |