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I am dead, you are sad, it's exactly how these pieces can collideSo I'm glad that cool willingness and comfort are now wildThis waters cold, though so I'm told it stir a million perfect particles of sandSlipped through your hands, now the body's where they're inclined to landIs this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land?I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhandAnd you claim that I will never be made of manI will rise with the sound of bird following this miracle of mineThey're the kind that would flay about with chest pushed out in pride And they would sing, la la la la la la la la la la and they would laugh ha ha haha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha haIs this my kind of living? Is this my kind of land?I am sitting on a grand gesture made of something skewed and underhandAnd you claim I will never be made of manSo true when the enemy's made of manSo great that I will never be made of man From Letras Mania