SHATTER THE IMAGE
Now you’ve been told what you should be.
Get on your mark, now, we’re countin’ to three.
But in your head, you say, “Is this really me?”
And in your head, you say, “Am I really free?”
An old man sits in a darkened room,
Staring out at the evening gloom.
Humming a tune, while he drinks his gin,
And heaving a sigh, as he rubs his chin.
And he thinks back to his younger days,
When there was little, if any haze.
So many dreams, but where did they go?
Off to another world, that he’ll never know.
Shatter the image in the other man’s eye.
You’ll find out that you won’t really die.
What you’ll find are the things, you need to know.
What you’ll find are the things, you need to grow.