Mr. Disgrace couldn't get up and go
He was tied to his bed with fear of unknown
Hating his own
His pockets are filled with the scraps of a poem
He'd written to her but she'll never know
He'd ever written a poem
Mr. Disgrace has a problem with parts
Fitting them in and reading the charts
In a world made of parts
He feels he can see in the minds and the hearts
If only the new where everything starts
In a world made of too many parts
If only they knew
One isn't two when you're empty
Blinded by words trampled by herds 'cause he's empty
Mr. Disgrace would you get up and go
You're tied to your bed with the fear of unknown
The fear that you only could know

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