I can't find it in myself|to tell you I'm confused|while these hands are full of riches|still I've got loads of nothing left to lose||They say I'm made by your design|or in your image, so I read|from all these failed attempts to find you in this mirror|once again, this reflection has gotten sad||So won't you take me home?|'Cause here I don't belong|And I'll be on my way|to call you "Home" someday||Now there's talk of better days|and of a show that must go on|but when the courtain of this silent stage show falls|I still won't be the one they want||and they say that hope dies last|but that still means it dies|and if the early bird is lucky, then the second bird is me|in these failed attempts to fly||So won't you take me home?|'Cause here I don't belong|And I'll be on my way|to call you "Home" someday