I happened Blue Monday, Feeding Time. A fed-up doctor served me up, And headed off to serve his own. His service made it clear to me. I refused to be served anything the balance of my stay. Mama threw the formula So I could get away.
Thrown, but not AWAY - How else account for my stay today? Made to act, but not to play The unworthy thing You've made of me.
Never bow from convention, the key to prevention. Let the status quo speak for your soul. Always. That way, you never have to say you drink formula every day.
When did I return, if I got away - Was it following that Hard Night's Day? Passing through, the previous night, The Looking Glass, I took a fright. Next Day, 'twas in the "setting right", I did it all Your way. The me, You see, I gave to You to resurrect most every day Has since maintained my place in line
With you. It's been a tie - You, me, myself But where am I? Refusing to be served Your line?
Has Your line really packed much punch? Nay. I say That formula we 'fasted on for lunch, Your grand design, I conspired To nurse it in my soul. How permeable, You'll never know. Good Golly, Molly, but I know, though!
True, My soul has lost its bluish hue, Has become a holding cell for lies. My lies, Your truth. 'Twas me, not I, that gave You room To re-configure black and white And wrong and right.
Mine eyes have seen myself Projected through Your looking glass. So what? Can't I cross over, back again - Be me as I see myself And not as you have cast me?
Formula? In deed, I never drank -- Mama, I have you to thank -- I've acted, but I have not played, In time with You. True, I returned to You, But turned a different way. Now, I'll throw Your formula AWAY And my soul shall reach Catharsis.
Me, myself, with I, set free - Can it ever really be? Or might I not as well propose, As if all lives comprised my own, A respite for the King Creole?
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