Do you want to be loved, or do you want to be free?
Do you want to go down with the ship that is me?
Do you want to grow up, or will you stay behind,
In the world well-contained in your precious little mind?
And who am I to judge if it's right or if it's wrong,
For a soul to be sold for the price of a song.
And so I live in my room underneath the floor,
And I lay wounded birds at the foot of your door.