Under the table and down in the pit with out plastic
Potatoes and Joe-Joe the dove on the spit On the
Spoons you made rhythm; I whistled the blues cos
My throats been misused and my voice is a crack in
The tar In the jar is a tablet they sent in the post,
With a pamphlet With an order; "Take this when the
Pain gets too much!" I confess I feel nothing at all
I'm bored and you're bald, but I laughed when you
Called me the snail My red trail runs behind me
I'm guilty, no secrets You're not such a picture
Yourself--but your brown eyes I know so very well
They're sadder and wiser; We've finally been
Through it all Now our time's slowly ticking away
Do you think there's a heaven? [ Backwards: I feel nothing at
All ]