Mr. Disgrace couldn’t get up and go   He was tied to his bed with fear of unknown   Hating his own      His pockets are filled with the scraps of a poem   He’d written to her but she’ll never know   He’d ever written a poem      Mr. Disgrace has a problem with parts   Fitting them in and reading the charts   In a world made of parts      He feels he can see in the minds and the hearts   If only the new where everything starts   In a world made of too many parts      If only they knew   One isn’t two when you’re empty   Blinded by words trampled by herds ‘cause he’s empty      Mr. Disgrace would you get up and go   You’re tied to your bed with the fear of unknown   The fear that you only could know