Anything I Can Sing, I Call A

The Inmates And Prisoners, I Found They Were My Kind, And It Was There Inside The Bars I Found My Peace Of Mind.

And I Hope That You Die And Your Death'll Come Soon I Will Follow Your Casket In The Pale Afternoon And I'll Watch While You're Lowered Down To Your Deathbed And I'll Stand O'er Your Grave 'til I'm Sure That You're Dead

It Frightens Me, The Awful Truth, Of How Sweet Life Can Be.

The Hollow Horn Plays Wasted Words, Proves To Warn That He Not Busy Being Born Is Busy Dying.

It's Not Important What Other People Call You. If You Yourself Know You're A Fake, That's Tougher To Live With.