THE PAINTED CHILD

I am the painted child, the maker of confusion

With rainbows in my hair and magic on my face

A phantom of the street, an optical illusion

Who hears a different beat, who runs a different race.

I am the painted child, I am the mischief maker

The beggar at the feast, the fiddler at the ball

I know the words of songs, I am the Sabbath breaker

The caller in the night, the writing on the wall.

The name on the wall... is me

The cry in the dark... is me

The mark of the child... I sign

The name on the wall

I am the painted child, the child who is a stranger

And those who once came near now turn and walk away

And everywhere is fear and everywhere is danger

These are the masks we wear, these are the parts we play

I am the painted child, the crier and the chorus

I strike upon the drum for funerals and games

And others there have come in centuries before us

To fill the world with noise and dance among the flames

The name on the wall... is me

The cry in the dark... is me

The mark of the child... I sign

The name on the wall

I am the painted child, the clown and the protester

A creature of the time and seldom what I seem

And call me what you will, a renegade or jester

But still I chill your heart, and still I haunt your dream

I'll sing beside your grave, half-minstrel and half-mourner

I'll sing of years gone by and bridges never crossed

I am the painted child who stands on any corner

I am the child you loved, I am the child you lost.

The name on the wall... is mine

Look in to my face and see

The strange painted child

Is me