I've got every letter
That one needs to spell
D-E-S-P-E-R-A-T-I-O-N
But in my going,
I tend to pass by an offer; refused I say.
And after that day I looked back,
Seeing that if perhaps the father had called
Maybe even left a message
Then I wouldn't be a failure
In the run-away.
But what life is there to lvoe when it
Is all spent on
Los Angeles
New York
Paris
And Jerusalem?
Oh...
And me of course
For every life
I hope that I
Can look into their eyes
Knowing they can't see mine
They can't see my
Letters that I spell
So perhaps, with that,
They will know
Don't follow an island mind
One track leads to endings planned
While the wandering road
Splits and splits at splits
And your endings are chosen
By your desgreasion
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