| I am the author
|
| This is my book
|
| It is a mistake
|
| Just have a look
|
| When once its city
|
| Hits down for good
|
| I know you can’t change it
|
| Wouldn’t if I could
|
| Hey little girl sitting next to me
|
| Never let him tell you what you need to be
|
| Never let him tell you how to write your book
|
| Never let him tell you how you need to look
|
| Rolling, look out in the night
|
| Hold yourself out to the light
|
| Real ones don’t fade away
|
| No, they just burn out if and when
|
| And I’m the director
|
| This is my set
|
| This is my movie
|
| That heaven sent
|
| Hey little girl sitting next to me
|
| Never let him tell you what you need to be
|
| Never let him tell you how to write your book
|
| Never let him tell you how you need to look
|
| Rolling, deep out in the night
|
| Hold yourself out to the light
|
| Real ones don’t fade away
|
| No, they just burn a different way
|
| We know this is, it can’t be done
|
| This war of wars, it can’t be won
|
| Every soldier’s someone’s son
|
| And if all that did much for every teen
|
| Listen, don’t fly into a dream
|
| Here’s my rifle, here’s my gun
|
| Here’s my only son
|
| On the ground
|
| Tell us something, make it good
|
| Tell me life should understood
|
| Tell me that it’s just begun
|
| Oh, tell me that you’re having fun
|
| Sunday beacon, Sunday light
|
| Send the hour into the light
|
| Real ones don’t fade away
|
| No, they just burn a different way
|
| Make it special, say we should
|
| Happily do what no one could
|
| Great beginnings, better ends
|
| So come along and bring a friend
|
| Here we go now, Harlem boy
|
| Tell me what you can’t afford
|
| Take the rifle, take the gun
|
| Oh, shoot me in the blazing sun |