I'm a chimney sweeping man

You see the black lines 

On the backs of my hands

I planted all the gardens

I sent off all the hand-typed letters

To the empty shells on high

How i want to make things better



Maybe you thought i'd be president

With my cheshire grin, high iq 

And charming baby blues

Well i'm a lowland forest resident

With lime in the outhouse

And black grime for tattoos



I try to make things better

I try to make things mine

I write a lot of letters 

To pass the time



I pulled three hundred rocks 

From the land to build my house

I walk quiet through the forest

Like a tiny quiet forest mouse



I'm a chimney sweeping man

You see the black lines 

On the backs of my hands