There once was man, that you may crossed on the street. He lived in a house covered in weeds. He parked his car under a oak tree, where a tire swing sways, like the days go free. There is a chair that rocks back and forth. It stays in the safety of a homely porch. This a junkyard to people like me But to this man it is a temple Where memories run free Childhood was a wonder with its blisters and burns With the winter, and the summer Like every child learns Life isn't always soft Its a cycle of conditioning Where the little ones learn How did he escape it? From the relgion and reality? Some say he is crazy For turning down mortality He claims he's from the sun A child of dust and stars Born of a nebula cloud Where did they go wrong, The mother and the church Where was his childhood Where the little ones learn They prayed and they taught Like every child should But he was a stranger Refuse to understood Now he sits on his roof Waiting to be taken home And everyone knows He is all alone Every gleam of light A star or two Made his hope jump Up and out to the blue