You gotta be crazy,
You gotta have a real need
You gotta sleep on your toes,
When you're on the street
You gotta be able to pick out the easy meat
With your eyes closed.
And then moving in silently,
Down wind and out of sight
You gotta strike when the moment is right
And after a while,
You can work on points for style
Like the club tie,
And the firm handshake,
A certain look in the eye,
And an easy smile.
You have to be trusted
By the people that you lie to
So that when they turn their backs on you
You'll get the chance to put the knife in.
You gotta keep one eye
Looking over your shoulder
You know it's going to get harder,
And harder, and harder
As you get older.
And in the end you'll pack up,
Fly down south,
Hide your head in the sand.
Just another sad old man
All alone, dying of cancer.
And when you lose control,
You'll reap the harvest
You have sown.
And as the fear grows,
The bad blood slows and turns to stone
And it's too late to lose
The weight you used to need to throw around.
So have a good drown,
As you go down, all alone,
Dragged down by the stone.
I gotta admit
That I'm a little bit confused
Sometimes it seems to me
As if I'm just being used.
Gotta stay awake, gotta try and shake off
This creeping malaise
If I don't stand my own ground,
How can I find my way out of this maze?
Deaf, dumb, and blind,
You just keep on pretending
That everyone's expendable,
And no one has a real friend.
It seems to you the thing to do
Would be to isolate the winner
Everything's done under the sun
And you believe at heart, everyone's a killer.
Who was born in a house full of pain
Who was trained not to spit in the fan
Who was told what to do by the man
Who was broken by trained personnel
Who was fitted with collar and chain
Who was given a pat on the back
Who was breaking away from the pack
Who was only a stranger at home
Who was ground down in the end
Who was found dead on the phone
Who was dragged down by the stone.
P. G. Luca Mana