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Hey mister, small town boy
rose up like dynamite
fought a fight with the gloves of a saint
it made you a heavy weight
for the picture perfect moment in your head

Hey mister, dancing man
you moved like dynamite
a butterfly and kerosene
a prisoner to rainbow dreams
for the picture perfect moment in your head

now I see you sitting on the TV screen
the camera's holding ransom your privacy

how do you feel
at the pinnacle of man
surrounded by the good, the bad, and the photograph

Hey mister, favourite son
you loved like dynamite
I stood outside your prison gates
a child with a child's taste
for the picture perfect moment in your head