Let him waste away slowly behind these grey walls
Catch on the idea that it's really not worth
To call him or search for him somewhere on earth
And to know where he's living doesn't matter at all
He capped the net with a pair of old scissors
Driven by the devil he cut off the rope
Of friendship and trust of future and hope
He just disappeared calling us foolish figures
Dear old friend shall we meet at the churchyard?
There's no nameplate, no doorbell, no identity card
Will this be the place you feel free?
Where the air is so mild and the gravestone is waiting
You're finally happy and you're feeling at ease
Just grumbling at me
"No flowers, please"
His guitar is broken his drawing pens are chewed
And when a nice thought slowly reaches his head
He spurns it with his feet 'till its really dead
So in love with himself he don't even feel crud