Oh, it's close at handnIt's eating through the wooden legs, nownClosing like an opening ceremonynWe're feeling, shaking like a rake with no leavesnnNever been convinced by the whirly gigs and their white, white wigsnYou can hide your constitution wellnWhen you bite your tongue with all your mightn'Cause the black and white is never misunderstoodnnAnd, oh, you been making the same mistakes and nOh, you been shaking the same old treesnThe apples keep on falling on the same old headnOh, it's truennIt's true you been tripping on the same old roots againnOh, it's true you been tripping on the same old roots againnIt's your presence of mind that really seems to undermine younnIt's hard to see the real thing for everything it isnUntil you see the wrong thing in actionnAnd we could be the real thing and never even knownUntil the light comes on and then we find it gonennWe're better off misunderstoodnWe're better off misunderstood