Met a friend down in little Italy, young in age but old in certainty
He swore to me that in his past life, he was a prop in a great big play.
On the field for a game, who rolled on without a name. . .
Life as that round and spherical object, has a unique set of circumstances.
For a moment you may be at rest,
Then in the next, you could be flying through the air.
Like a bird without a care, a better time I've had no where.
Until you hit the ground. . .
Why am I always, getting kicked around? What did I do to deserve this fate?
In my last life I was a sinner, in the next I'll be a saint.
My hands I'll donate, my blood is yours to take.
Just let me feel alive again, shed this plastic for some skin. . .
To have a home and not this goal that I've been livin' in. . .
From my past lives, a lesson I have learned, live your life well while you have it.
In this life I am a striker, and the shoe is on my foot.
And my goal is clear in front of me, and the ball is at my feet. . .
Just let me feel alive again, shed this plastic for some skin. . .
To have a home and not this goal that I've been livin' in. . .