See him wasted all of a sudden
In his jacket and his jeans
Wearing yesterday's misfortunes like a smile
Once he had a future full of money,
love and dreams
Which he spent
like they was going out of style
And he keeps right on a changing
For the better or the worse
Searching for a shrine he's never found
Never knowing if believing is a blessing
Or a curse,
or if the going up was worth the coming down
He's a poet,
he's a picker He's a prophet,
he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher And a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction Partly truth and partly fiction
Taking the ever wrong direction On his lonely way back home
He has tasted good and evil In your bedrooms and your bar
Traded in tomorrow for the day
Running from his devil's lord
And reaching for the stars Losing all he loved along the way
And as his world keeps right on turning For the better or the worse
And all he ever gets is over and around
From the rocking of the cradle
To the rolling of the birds Going up was worth the coming down
He's a poet,
he's a picker
He's a prophet,
he's a pusher
He's a pilgrim and a preacher And a problem when he's stoned
He's a walking contradiction Partly truth and partly fiction
Taking the ever wrong direction On his lonely way back home
There's a lot of wrong directions on that lonesome way back home