giving it time
waiting on bomb shells
disrupting our pleasantries
sleeping in trenches
we're restless

standing in line
caught up in frustrations
the coming years are sure
to change our minds
seeing dead friends in picture frames
and giving the condemned the final word

undertakers whistling their hearts out
their hearts out
undertakers burning gates to keep the robbers coming in

the one who blows the whistle makes the call
he kills them all

back scratcher back scratcher lend me your hand
the mornings seem surely the best times to be alive
news paper news paper tell me your rhymes
for many fine days we had faith in the words
of the rats in the sky

girl you got words bleeding out your eyes i swear
well your days are numbered sadly
we're breathing in the weekend
Living someone else's life
with someone else's words
peering through cracks in doorways
they wont see how we'll get them there
we're making noises
for those blind boys to follow

keep watch our golden owl
with eyes as big as the statue
that holds our blue balloons
bearded men march in single file
sporting rifles laughing loud
to catch the foxes where they may roam

she doesn't think to look around anymore
she'll just do what she's told