I have been experiencing some unusual path of thinking
On a night of public drinking, I have found I am picturing
All these different people in a state of undress equal
To that of Adam and Eve, I believe this is not a sexual thing
Cause I picture men and women in just the skin they were born in
It removes their identities and let's me see the entities
That I believe their parents see without being obscured by the
Costumes that we wera to be a part of this society
The skinhead in the Millwall shirt is as susceptible to hurt
As any individual both mental and physical
Mankind is so cynical and clinical it's difficult to strip away the visible
And envisage the residual not exactly typical
But kinda prototypical removing the pontifical
External inadmissible mask of the municipal
Discarded for the visceral I swear this is permissible in principle
You're a big man and ya way to loud
But deep down ya mothers still proud of, you
But when you strip down and you lose that shroud
You're still the same kid that cried on the way to, school
One seems to me to be a solitary sum
When referring to yourself it's an affront
To the complexities invested in the chest of these receptacles acceptably presented first as young
And many guises are revised as we get old
And many lies through each disguise is somehow told
To ignite a right of flight despite the might of the contrite we fight inside of out minds to somehow have a hold of the image we present unto the world
But beneath this we're still boys and we're still girls
Not exempt of the resent when we lament upon events that tend to bend and dent the style used to beguile
So concerned with what is learned just from out style
But when strip and rip it down to just a smile
Then you're left with just the depth within the naturally constructed from just like when you were born
You're a big man and ya way to loud
But deep down ya mothers still proud of, you
But when you strip down and you lose that shroud
You're still the same kid that cried on the way to, school