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lyrics: J. Morse © 1985 Overaged, underworked He picks up the phone to call someone He never knew, so untrue People followed his every move Walking behind him, step by step In perfect time. . . perfect time Leading the parade In front of the crowd Marching, marching up and down the street But he's still alone, with the face of a clown Tiny faces with beaming smiles Looking up for his Approval, at every move Asking questions about everything Why won't they leave him alone Let him go, let him go his own way Leading the parade In front of the crowd Marching, marching up and down the street But he's still alone, with the face of a clown Leading the parade In front of the crowd Marching, marching up and down the street But he's still alone, with the face of a clown |