The wandering drunks out on the town tonight,
For the romantic killer that's never been caught,
For the crackpot who hit the jackpot and stopped.
Just to feel what it's like to drop,
For the critical mass that converges,
For the pedophile suppressing his urges.
Cause he believed in freedom of thought.
This is for the baby who struggles to talk,
But can manage to gargle the language of God.
Who dared to soar up to the sun.
This is for the outcasts, the freaks and the schemers,
This is for the last of the dreamers.