Your heart sings like a kettle and your words, they boil away like steam. A lie burns long while the truth bites quick, a heart is built for both it seems. You are lonely as a church, despite the queuing out your door. I am empty as a promise, no more. When the time comes, and rights have been read, I think of you often but for once I meant what I said. I was salted by your hunger, now you've gone and lost your appetite and a little bird is every bit as handy in a fight. I am lonely as a memory despite the gathering round the fire. Aren't you every bird on every wire? When the time comes, and rights have been read, I think of you often but for once I meant what I said. Here I stay, I lay me down, in a house by the Hill. Dug from the rubble, cut from the kill.