toys
There is a man, got it all figured out.
He is high up, can see what it’s all about.
Got clarity of vision, clouds are down below.
With great precision he can make it rain or snow.
Can’t hear what they say, clouds form a roof.
Can’t hear what they pray, can’t hear their truths.
Can’t see what they write, can’t see what they read.
Can’t see their plight, can’t see that they bleed.
To feel superior he talks to his head
Where it’s all inferior, where it’s all dead.
Hope’s gone missing way down below.
Been drowned in the rain, been buried in the snow.
He’s at the head of a roundtable with ten ministers of finance.
They pound the table in a sinister trance.
They got that zombie rhythm way down pat.
Got that battle hymn, they’re preparing the attack.
So high up he is close to God.
Shuts his eyes to see the celestial nod.
Got wax in his ears, he can hear the angels sing
But he can’t hear the school bell's ring.
Worlds are colliding, one big noise.
What are those clouds hiding?
Well it must be toys.
Ideas go begging, door to door.
He’s all filled up, he don’t need any more.
He is smarter by far than those thoughts in his head.
He is the commander-in-chief of the planet of the dead.
n-chief of the planet of the dead.