Andy Simon: Music

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This is the tale of a boy named Clyde.
Who still sees the goodness with his eyes opened wide.
With no destination he hitches a ride.
And where ever he lands he calls home.

He likes to go skydiving with a rabbit-foot charm.
"It's all in your head," rings the silent alarm.
As he hangs on the breeze, he pisses on the farm.
And then laughs when the corn springs up yellow.

CHORUS: He knows exactly what matters.
So he does not care what's in store.
He only hopes life is for learning.
And the more he lives, he wants more.

The sight of the rainbow makes the Leprechauns dance.
On the side of the hill that's avoided by the ants.
As they gather their army, the dandelion chants.
And the wind sings the praise of disorder.

He likes to describe his brain with a map.
His Id tells his Ego, "Let's set us a trap."
Before it is triggered, he's caught in a nap.
And his third eye runs black with mascara.

CHORUS

Inside of the chimney is nothing but cash.
A swirling green smoke and a dollar sign rash.
An entire life's savings gone up in a flash.
And the bank's still extending his credit.

He's on the outside, but he's not looking in.
When you're tucked inside your bed is when he begins.
Your sun is his moon, your frown is his grin.
All the crying just keeps him in curtains.

Well Plato is sacked at the end of the field.
And Mother Theresa refuses to yield.
To the wisdom that stigmata should never be healed.
And the referee wears his galloshes.

He goes with his heart when he's faced with a choice.
Where the beauty of truth creates its own voice.
And he knows that not knowing is a chance to rejoice.
If the Queen of Cups nods her approval.

CHORUS