There is a little son lost, John Tears, John, tears. Bruised and [unknown] with his overals torn With one shoe off, one shoe on. Tears, John, tears.
And where will your little son sleep, John? Under the [smoke stacks], under the heap? Under the tent where the canopy leaks? Tears, John, tears.
You’re drowning in the grief of Jupiter’s water Let me open my teeth and cradle you there There’s a bed for the boy, and a rope for the father Both orphaned by heaven, where no child is spared.
To who will your little child pray, John? Darkness and strangers that sleep on the train? There’s blood on the cots, bones on their plates Tears, John, tears.
Who then will tend to the sheep, John? Treads in a place where the vicious gods preach. Their claws come in sharpened on wolves in white fleece Tears, John, tears. Tears, John, tears.
You’re drowning in the grief of Jupiter’s water Let me open my teeth and cradle you there There’s a bed for the boy, and a rope for the father Both orphaned by heaven, where no child is spared.
Swings from my lips Render your deeds The more that you share The deeper your knees Two little hands push the chair from your feet Drowning in your beautiful grief.