Grandfather burned up to ash And returned to the earth. Which he spawned This nefarious prank That’s controlled by the length Of his arms. And the kindred is gathered By coffin and chaplain, On his behalf. And a discreet tender man Clears his throat, Waves his hand, Following a laugh. And the band plays on.
Like a fat baby’s birth, Like a cry and a curse At the breathing space, While the mother rejoices Ten fingers, ten toes And a handsome face. And the family is gasping. Each one can’t help asking, “How was it, my dear?” Like a scorn for the one That was torn and deformed For the next cruel years. And the band plays on.
So I’ll cut you all open. I'll see what’s inside you Or what’s missing. While this virgin, Your daughter, Skirt down in the altar- She don’t owe you a God damn thing, 'Cause she’s gorgeous. I’ll take her to The house by the lake, Where I'll write her a song. While you fat pigs with call-girls: They dance in the ballrooms Shaking their wallets at God. And the notes fill the pages As I scramble to paste up My bleeding heart. And this sick song moves on, If you’re lucky lifelong, You can sing a part. As it falls apart.