The Making of a Madman

There once lived a madman, ran far from his father's hand. Cracked out the

whip, poor boy never got a slip. Oh, grown up he's

got, judged by his face, left broken and marred.

They say he's a disgrace, but they don't see the pain he had to

face. They turn him out, they push him away.

No thought for the past, no reason to stay. But the ghost

in his eyes won't let him be, haunting his thoughts, killing what he

sees. And it's so clear why he made them die. When we judge