He sings along with the choir

Dressed in schoolboy attire

Just a spark to set off a fire

The chorus soars through the night...


So he pores through a record collection

Establishes his connection

He's leading a resurrection

His fingers bleed through the night...


But something inside him feels right

As he trains everyday for the fight

And the onlookers doubt, they can't figure him out

Alone, he continues to write...


And when he marches in, I'll be waiting

But there's no time for celebrating

For the course that he's navigating

Can only end with his life...


But what can I do?

He rides on a white horse along Dreamer's Avenue

And why can't he see?

Without a real job, he will never be free (wait and see...)


And when he comes back, I will be waiting

Among the crowd congregating

They're raining on his parading

And overwhelming his sight


And something inside him's not right

'Cause he spent too long in the fight

The demands pile on even after he's gone

Embarked on a magical flight, embarked on a magical flight, embarked on a magical flight, embarked a magical flight!


(spoken) "All you other fucking wannabe prettyboy bands, start packing up your equipment now! Catch the next flight out of here! Eighty-8 has just arrived in Tampa, Florida!"