Sunny days, go away – the rain will hide this sullen face; don’t blame it all on me if you’re feeling cold. The pensive mind, preoccupied, giving up on looking for the gold in mines – too many times, I’ve played the roles. They hate our kind, the losing tribe – hidden messages are playing on the radio. The reasons that I walked on by – for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go. They hate our kind, we don’t have time; turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow. The lost tribe, distraught kinds… The memories, in diaries – black ribbons, tucked beneath the bed; I remember one bright moment, it went dead – now that age has seized me. The agonies, frivolities, casting off hate – let it die alone. I’m trying hard these days at blending in. They hate our kind, the losing tribe – hidden messages are playing on the radio. The reasons that I walked on by – for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go. They hate our kind, we don’t have time; turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow. The lost tribe, distraught kinds… This time, the moment will pass. They hate our kind, the losing tribe – hidden messages are playing on the radio. The reasons that I walked on by – for too many ages, now, we haven’t had nowhere to go. They hate our kind, we don’t have time; turning over cheeks and waiting for the wind to blow. The lost tribe, distraught kinds… Views from below.