He’s barely awake
He’s never learned how to live
He knows how to take
Doesn’t know how to give
And it bothers him more than he likes to admit
As he strolls in the rain with his cigarette
He was born to a mother, or so he was told,
Who wanted her freedom before she grew old
He was pushed in the corner and forced in the mold
Put up on the block, he was auctioned and sold
He curses the weather
Says he don’t need the rain
He expects to hurt others and not feel the pain
He can’t conceive of ever giving any more than he gain
I guess he and I are just one and the same
I guess he and I are just one and the same