Sometimes I wish I was a fisherman,
so I could crawl away from this stage.
And escape from behind these bars,
that surround me in this cage.
And why am I awoken at midnight,
and told to meet the mayors wife.
Just because she owns a title,
doesn't mean she owns my life.
The disabled are brought before me,
to hear my music and nothing more.
But their nurses urge them to touch me,
expecting to find a cure.
So it's time the dream was over,
no more mystery tours.
Or crawling around those Hamburg streets,
high, but on all fours.
I fooled you all with that image,
I made black look so white.
I made the most of all the fun,
now I'll shine on with the fight.
Or maybe I'll just hide away,
once again to be free.
Just like that fisherman inside me,
drifting away to sea.
By Mike Bartram