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Nudity Is Not a Crime
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Skin City
Look at me. It's not what it seems. You don't know what I used to be.
Some time ago, I had my very own castle o' gold.
But now I'm on the road. A hermit vagabond.
And I got rags for clothes. People ask me where I'm from.
I got a handful of clues. I gotta look for the truth of life.
But people don't wanna fill my shoes.
So I'm alone on my quest. It doesn't make me smile.
But still I'm a happy prick, even though nobody's on my side.
People point at me, they laugh, they spit, they don't wanna see my face.
I'm different, that's a fact, but how can it be
kindness ain't possible to trace?
Looks may be deceiving.
A fake Michelangelo painted in the ceiling.
And I don't know where to go.
On and on, I'm walking around. Running along from town to town.
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You could say I'm a clown, tell me to bow.
But I won't get down on my knees for a crowd of
big headed big shots. You tell me how to live my life but
it happens that I'm a person, not a slave to all your lies cuz
I can do whatever I want, without having to
worry about a thing or some god.
No offense all of you who believes in a greater power.
But I believe that the power lies within yourself.
Words of wisdom rarely comes from a screaming nomadic
vagabond, but remember, looks may be deceiving!
Looks may be deceiving.
A fake Michelangelo painted in the ceiling.
And I don't know where to go.
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