If I had my way, I'd run out in the street
With a megaphone, white face and hurrying feet
To proclaim from my place behind a loaded gun
That when God made man, He left some men undone.
See, that is the cause of the dark in my eyes:
There's nothing behind them, as vacant as skies.
I don't want your pity: no pity is real.
When I pull the trigger, then maybe I'll feel.