Squeezed and bludgeoned hear my shriek, my legs do tremble knees are weak. I am lost and I am mute, for the things you say I can't compute. When the bells ring must they see, upon the stage what's left of me? Tick tock strokes the grandfather clock, a jealous tone, a sheep-less flock. And as I lay in sounds of rain, my back and knees soaked in pain. I long to be adored again, to be a man free from stain.