Don't know why I bother
trying to keep the pace.
There are other things I'm meant to do --
wasn't born to run this race.
People shake their heads and tell me,
"Boy, it's time that you grew up!
There's no room in the world for madmen and dreamers.
When will you give up?"
Is there room enough for
Oh God, why won't you listen?
Do you know what it's like to be
a prisoner in your own life?
I don't fit in at all.
It's not my fault, it's how you made me.
A simple prayer, Lord:
give me wings, please let me fly.
You tell me it's reality,
that I should reason it away
when frustration gnaws my spirit
and the real world gets in the way.
But even you don't understand me
(too much effort to take the time).
Don't you know I have been both a madman and dreamer
and can't live this kind of life?
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I lie awake while you're
the stain of tears upon my face.
To this cynical world I'm grounded --
the chains of reason lock me in place.
It's the taste of unknown passion:
hoping for a day and time
when there's room in the world for madmen and dreamers,
so I can live my life.
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