Ben Folds Five

unwindling deeds sweep through four man's cross washing away the wrong i have done in tross over the misty moutian tops i have walked stubbling over all rocks, the loss of balance knocks walking in my shoes and gaze around in a look down i have found that i stand alone on this sacred ground all messages unpassed clown openly giving evreything i ever had in my possion allthough all i have is blind intention i seperate the emachatude of wisdom an intelect i was born into toleration and inprisonment i have strived too for the mercy that was never given or shown i will not return home for i have long been forgoten could i should i would i no