I'm just the wicker man.
Burning in the fire, flaming pyre.
Who's the one to blame when things go awry?
Just me. Scapegoat, dry eyes, sore throat.
I can't scream, it hurts.
I know I'm not right, not right at all.
Try as I might, I'm still to blame.
Sleep too much, think too much. Why aren't you like the others?
Playing sports, acting pretty, thinking dumb.
It makes me sick.
I'm different, I'm wrong.
But I don't care. Not anymore.
I won't be the wicker man just because I'm a sicker man.
Who are you to judge when a mind's not right?
Do I scare you?
Am I the boogeyman? A monster?
How can I be a monster when I'm scared of myself?
"What's wrong with you, freak?"
And they wonder why I don't want to be friends.
It ends here. The discrimnation and hatred won't stand.
I'm fighting back, I'm taking back. Taking my back my life.
I'm not your wicker man.