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I'm nervous as I sit here alone
Thinking about the idea of freedom
I'm controlling all the wrong things
And to think of any gain from it
I must be dreaming

I'll never be Brett Whiteley
But someday I might like seeing from my own eyes
I could be the elected
Not rejected from the heavens in the sky

I'm not sure if I should be doing this
If this is even anything at all
The autumn, it has blown in quick
And I'm rushing to turn a new leaf
Before they fall

I'll never be Chris Bell
But perhaps I could hang in the cosmos at night
I could be the elected
Not rejected from the heavens in the sky

I'm a slave to hate my enemies
And in doing so
I guess that I am farther from God
I'm not even in their memories
But I've been thinking about forgiveness for too long

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