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I'm an old man praying for rain in a dry month And I pray for youth to come back and be crude Is there no touch, no tingle, no terrible crutch What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever How deep is the pillow that catches our thoughts? And will it be soft or will it remain true? All our sick souls require is faith and desire To feed our whims before our eyes grow dim What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever We're big, we're better, we're dreaming clever What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling? What kind of man are you, holding on to that feeling?
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