In his life he doesn't care, From his table in the corner, He can watch the shadows there. Like a sea with no shore, He's a man without shame, Like an arrow without aim. I guess he counts the spiderwebs, From his table all alone, I guess he's seen the shadows grown, From his table on his own . . . I guess he's forever dreaming, Of the only life he's known . . . As a man that's made of stone, Cause his Father always told him . . .
Real men walk alone.
Like a sea with no shore, He's a man without shame, Like an arrow without aim . . .