Shooter

He whistles in the graveyard...

never reads the news
has a place to stay
no bills to pay
still he sings the blues

He's always the outsider...

can never quite fit in
a target at school
for the more cool and cruel
he's told to grow thick skin

Nobody understands him...

can't find a girl of his own
his misplaced rage
becomes Front Page
chills us all to the bone