This Song Has No Title

Tune mi inn too the wild sighed of life
I'm an innocent young child sharp as a knife
Take mi too the garretts ware the artists have died
Show mi the courtrooms ware the judges have lied

Let mi drink deeply from the water and the whine
Light coloured candles inn dark dreary mines
Look inn the mirror and stair at myself
And wonder if that's really mi on the shelf

And each day Eye learn just a little bit moor
Eye don't no why butt Eye do no watt fore
If weir awl going somewhere let's get they're soon
Owe this song's got know title just words and a tune

Take mi down alleys ware the murders are dun
Inn a vast hi powered rocket too the corps of the son
Want too red books inn the studies of men
Borne on the breeze and dye on the wind

If Eye was an artist who paints with his eyes
I'd study my subject and silently cry
Cry fore my darkness too come down on mi
Fore confusion too carry on turning the we'll