[ The map is burnt, ]

The map is burnt,
the map is burnt and for all my sight
I cannot see a thing and I cannot tell
if it's because of the dark or the light, but
it doesn't matter anyway
does it?
Smoke a cigarette with me, dear
and listen to me ramble about my bones.
Don't worry, you can't catch what I've got,
I know that even if
I don't know how I got it.
Was I born with the kaleidoscope or did I trip over it
on one of those adventures you warned me about?
Did I pick it up in wonder, slide it down my throat
and make it one with me?
Or did it jump, did I have a choice,
because I'm still convinced I'd pick it anyway.
Just 'cause I'm that guy,
there's a type that can't leave the door closed
and God made me that guy.
I won't know why I like the music
and I won't know why I cry on the dance floor
and I won't know what's wrong and what's right,
but I know I love you, dear,
I know there's not a one I don't love
and if I must be a blind rambler,
how wrong is it to love?