Tick it over.
Roll it over.
Where it began, aye? Yes.
The long war. The long stripes.
The good kettle, yes?
Quietly, you know
I want what you owe me.
I'm going to get it.
"...if you go down there, you are going to die..."
Listen to them, honey. You are.
A little kiss, honey. You are.
You are, you are, you are.
It's not a myth.
It's not a story to tell your grand grands.
I am not the bogey man.
I was born like many before,
and I have not forgotten our score.
"...if you go up there, you are going to die..."
Rolling back the dial.
Ticking it over.
I love this song.
Right the wrongs, now yeah?
We've had a good run, yeah?
Aye okay, if I might add.
I'll whistle on my way to visit.
I will visit, yes.
"...if you go down there, you are going to die..."
fantastic, they said.
Like pixels, they said.
Complete the picture, they said.
You cannot scream in a funeral home, they said.
I'll make time.
There's time for everything. Scha-wing! Rimshot.
I'll bring a flower on a Tuesday,
a very disappointed day of the week.
"...if you come up here, you will die..."
Visit the hole in the ground. I don't eat pets.
How nifty would it be
if the eulogy was written by
someone incapable
after you drilled into me.
I hope you learn to laugh some day,
genuinely. Awake is a wake except
when it's a party.
