A Hundred Friends
Childhood isolation. Me at eight, knocking on a locked door in a silent house, and the silence telling me I was on my own. A lot of the parts in this tavern were born that day.
The house is dark, the house is cold
A story that is eight years old
A little boy with a question in his soul
A little piece he can't control
He's standing in a silent hall
A shadow on a painted wall
He knocks upon a locked and silent door
And he's not sure what he's asking for
And the silence is a final, cruel reply
A quiet, simple, and a perfect lie
That tells a boy he's all alone
A broken prince on a forgotten throne
And as he cries himself to sleep
A single, simple vow he'll keep
"I'll have a hundred friends someday" he'll say
"And I will never be turned away"
And thirty years have come and gone
He's still awake before the dawn
He's built a fortress, strong and deep
For all the promises he couldn't keep
And he is good, and he is kind
To every broken soul he'll find
'Cause he's still standing in that hall
And waiting for a friend to call
And the silence is a final, cruel reply
A quiet, simple, and a perfect lie
That tells a boy he's still alone
A broken king on a forgotten throne
And as he cries himself to sleep
A single, simple vow he'll keep
"I'll have a hundred friends someday" he'll say
"And I will never be turned away"