Mr. Disgrace couldn't get up and go
He was tied to his bed with fear of unknown
Hating his own
His pockets are filled with the scraps of a poem
He'd written to her but she'll never know
He'd ever written a poem
Mr. Disgrace has a problem with parts
Fitting them in and reading the charts
In a world made of parts
He feels he can see in the minds and the hearts
If only the new where everything starts
In a world made of too many parts
If only they knew
One isn't two when you're empty
Blinded by words trampled by herds "˜cause he's empty
Mr. Disgrace would you get up and go
You're tied to your bed with the fear of unknown
The fear that you only could know