Scornful looks that he shoots at the world
Are just a weak facade for his own fears
He walks on by, carefully
Afraid of the thousand eyes that no one can see
Silent hours, lonesome days
Forgetful nights, A quiet place

Where are you going buck?
Youthful land of Lady Luck

Blank page beneath his eyes
Gets filled with a blinding light
Mindless words that he writes
That he thinks to be universally right
Blood nor sweat has he ever spelled
Though his pain seems quite deep

Where are you going buck?
Youthful land of Lady Luck

Talking politics, so casually
News flash Bucko, it ain’t what it seems
Romantically, he stares at them things
Dreaming about a starry-eyed scene
High ambitions with immense planning
But the work he just can never do

Where are you going, Buck?
There’s no land called Lady Luck.