He wraps a smile round his tired face to hide the marks of the +walk of life+ through +dire straits+ No +brothers in arms+, the +sultan of mood swing+ Moving in tune with the melodies that truth sings He knows the music will stop and he's okay with that, he can face the facts He just wants it to mean something to these people when he fades to black And he's not sure, fighting for a lost cause and effect He tries to find clarity behind locked doors in his head And if you saw him, you wouldn't know it Hell, his friends don't He's just another lost soul who blocks the world out with his headphones Words signify nothing, he doesn't feel your complements Doesn't believe the things you say when you try to build his confidence There is no success, only an inability to realise a goal This blackjack of all trades playing with the rest, he might just fold He can see what his opponents hold, read their tactics, call their bluffs But he can't play his own hand right, it's not enough It's the way he plays, convinced he's lost from the first turn He reads the other players fine from the skirts to the hurt words The smirks to the T-shirts, the nervous to the certain Every apple has it's earthworms Sorry, he gets carried away when he's writing in the third person