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He stands, dwarfed by his own expectations
He could be perfect, yet he'd think of himself
As perfected ordinary
He has the heart of a clock and the mind of a soldier
No one's seen him smile in years

Yet in another time, another life
He laughed and joked and drank champagne
And his imagination's run away with him

But years and years can change someone
From who he was to who he'd become
Trading a childish world
For one of surreal predictability

But somewhere deep down
In the lowest denominator of his soul
That boy lives on
Alone and terribly repressed
But not dead
Never dead