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 

Because 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're dying inside a window 

I saw your face all cut with glass 

And underneath the 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 

And ??? 

The sky is black in a blue night 

The winter is true or so it may seem 

Carnival tricks in the corners 

The floor is made of tracks 

That follow your footsteps