i hear you saying somethingnwe can think about it all day longnbut i feel you saying something elseni'll admit, i may well be wrongnis it possible there's something therenwe can't find just yetnnlike the sun behind a cloudnon a warm, moist autumn daynit still warms the earthnand gives off enough bright lightnso we can seenall the beautiful colors that make upnthe daynnplayer, player, playernplayer play onnam i a player, player, playernfor playing this songnmy true intention in writing this songnmay well be hidden from mensomeday i hope i seennyou're a man of many words thoughnyou haven't cried in many yearsnyou say it's a sign of weakness nto let others see your tearsnit's okay, i guess, if you're not readynto admit your fearsnnhey hippy, you evil liberal nbleeding heart, is what they sayni've come to grips with who i amnso i'm okaynwords used as bullets fired fromna gun of hatennplayer, player, playernplayer play onnam i a player, player, playernfor playing this songnmy true intention in writing this songnmay well be hidden from mensomeday i hope i see