It's alright it's just the cradle burns
racing to corner of your mind that hates the world
burn the dress and hang it in the tree
count the birds that see the shine of hope without disease

I am the son of a mother and a man
but the monkey is wheezing like a whipped old man
the clowns are off feeding the fat to the flow
here comes the servants to shovel bones

right upon the wake the cradle burns
return with hands of terror to rub my feet together
it's alright psychology of blame
has one cheek an eye for any eye and leaps of faith to tame

I am the son of a mother and a man but the monkey is wheezing like a whipped old man the clowns are off feeding the fat to the flow and here come the servant to shovel bones

funny funny funny how the well gets water when the fever flows and by the charge of the chance we can race the dance to Babylon

every day a rat falls from the sky
to chase the snow around the room and tell you you're for flies every day a cradle burn will fall
if you drown all the days you wasted your hands on a whip without a spine

I am the son of a mother a man and the horsedrawn wishes have been sent on their way down a hole where the cradle burns go here comes the servants to shovel bones