All pity him; alone outside, cold Christmas Eve
His only companion; a bottle of red wine
Blind for truths; they can only see what they believe
And poet is not a word all know to define
His own words and thoughts mingle with what he observes
In his Moleskine is a whole new dimension
But the world he's basing it on gets on his nerves
The truth of life is beyond their comprehension
These windows and on the other side of the drapery
All eat, drink, sing, smile; it seems as if they're having a ball
Not him; solitude is his weapon against fakery
He observes and he writes, lonely from this place called his soul
His cage is his will
Their cage is their happiness
His cage is his thrill
Their cage is their blessed distress
See how happy they are in their self-made-up lifes
All's nicely decorated including the mood
See how happy they are in their self-made-up lies
All's nicely decorated included the truth
These windows and on the other side of the drapery
All eat, drink, sing, smile; it seems as if they're having a ball
Not him; solitude is his weapon against fakery
He observes and he writes, lonely from this place called his soul
His cage is his will
Their cage is their happiness
His cage is his thrill
Their cage is their blessed distress
His cage is his will
His cage is his thrill
They want it all
Perfectioning their real-life act
They have it all
...Plus the feeling of being trapped
He dreams it all
Embracing it a real-life fact
He feels it all
...Minus the feeling of being trapped
His cage is his will
Their cage is their happiness
His cage is his thrill
Their cage is their blessed distress
His cage is his will
His cage is his thrill