I could break free from the
Wood of a coffin
If I need
But nothin’s hard as
Gettin’ free from places
I’ve already been
I’ve been waste-deep
In the burnin’ meadows
Of my mind
In the engine
In cold December
Shootin’ fire from the hose
Now turn off your lights
’cause I’m not comin’ home
’til I’m delivered for the first time
I was first-born to a parade
That follows in rows
Down a narrow cold black river
Faceless shadows
Movin’ slow
I would move swift when
The sounds of a trumpet would blow
I’ve been the puppet