The Finest Joke Is Upon Us

Mother - feeling your hand-eye

Believe you and I did then

And mother-release every bad seed

The geese are leaving the trees

Exposed to winter's cold

They waited too long - But we too

Exaggerated and now take the cake away

It's a long song and I can't play it

So give me a grip now collector of bones

Worlds of smoke

Distorted mirror broken

Paradise is open but I choke

One of these days when I see through the smoke

There'll be the day I get the joke