My wandering friend, he might not be the one

My dark-eyed friend, he might turn out

another of life's troubled, troubling sons


But you don't have to cut your hair

And you don't have to change the clothes you wear

And you don't have to change


So even if your future grows

in tiny hands and tiny toes

it's only half the one you chose


And through the telescope of time

where every strange look is a sign

doesn't mean they'll judge you either way


He might still be the one you choose

And you don't have to cut your hair

And you don't have to change the clothes you wear

And you don't have to change


You don't have to change, you don't have to change

You don't have to change (but you have to choose)

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