Some Are Masters Of Illusions, Some Are

Never Make It Perfect.

They're Selling Postcards Of The Hanging.

There's Been Rumors Of War And Wars That Have Been The Meaning Of Life Has Been Lost In The Wind And Some People Thinkin' That The End Is Close By 'stead Of Learnin' To Live They Are Learnin' To Die

The Radio Makes Hideous Sounds.

Oh, The Inmates And The Prisoners I Found They Were My Kind And It Was There Inside The Bars I Found My Peace Of Mind But The Jails They Were Too Crowded Institutions Overflowed So They Turned Me Loose To Walk Upon Life's Hurried Tangled Road