You got real fancy instincts
But your mouth is so large
I think I see a hundred people in it
I guess you like it that way
‘Cause you’re a flop
And there ain’t no more wringer washers
To roll your fingers through
I see your insides aren’t the same since 1951
You died inside a window
I saw your face all cut with glass
And underneath a window
The hands you dug your grave with
You could have built an empire
He would have helped you now you know
You’re going to fetch the wind
On a unicorn
Feet all dangling down
Wish them well at the marketplace
I fear a fiery face
Is staring from the future
It’s not the way
They told me I was a fool
Well it’s your friend and mine
That is down on the line
The sky is black in a blue night
The weather is true or so it may seem
Carnival tricks in the corners
The floor is made of tracks
That follow your footsteps