| You got eyes like the light in cloudy chimneys
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| You got cries like the bird of song in lonely trees
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| You got hands like the land and feet like the sea
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| And you’re not as simple as you seem
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| For your flesh is weak and your bones are bare
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| And you cannot see your beating heart
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| Does it mean it’s not there?
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| For there is none good though we don’t seem too bad
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| We cannot live till we realize
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| That we were once dead
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| You got clothes from the shows with the unfunny jokes
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| You got ghosts that haunt you late at night when you’re all alone
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| You got hands that quake and feet that choke
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| And you’re not as simple as you’re told
|
| For your flesh is weak and your bones are bare
|
| And you cannot see your beating heart
|
| Does it mean it’s not there?
|
| For there is none good though we don’t seem too bad
|
| We cannot live till we realize
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| That we were once dead
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| For you’ll only breed darkness if you call the kettle black
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| So why say he’s your brother when you’re beating up the man?
|
| And my flesh is weak and my bones are bare
|
| And I cannot see my beating heart |
| Does it mean it’s not there?
|
| For there is none good though we don’t seem too bad
|
| We cannot live till we realize
|
| That we were once dead |