When we were little kids
we tried the seven deadly sins
in the attic every summertime.
The wet felt smelling silent kind.
We'd play light as a feather,
stiff as a board
and you'd press to my hips as we'd
slip through the floor.

The grey, grey ghost is coming out
of the bright white sheet that was wrapped about him.
The shade, shade, shade, could have been mistaken, but I swear that the sunlight was shooting straight through him.

Let's make a mess of this banquet
while our bones are soaked in blood.
When our skin and cells are bankrupt
we'll be deposit in the dust.
Try to stay soft
and remember to bend
the chance to get supple will not come again 'cause in time you will find rigor mortis sets in.
'cause in time you will find rigor mortis sets in.

I failed and I failed but my failures were passing, grew hair
and a tail and was all the while asking,
"Does it stay like this?" and "Will it end like this?"
"Does it stay like this?" and "Will it end like this?"

I'm afraid that you're fading away,
you're not coming in clear.
I'm afraid that the games that we've played
have turned desperate and dear.
I'll try to stay soft
and remember to bend
the chance to get supple will not come again 'cause in time I will find rigor mortis sets in.

All that you cherish will perish.
All that can punish will pass.
I know you'll hit the ground running
when you ditch the road at last.

Well, we failed and we failed
but our failures were passing, grew hair
and a tail and were all the while asking, "Does it stay like this?" and "Will it end like this,
is this supposed to hurt or are we sensitive?" There'll be no red rose the day you die
there'll be flies round your nose and rings round your eyes.
The clock ticks on we don't have a say,
we let one hand wash the others dirt away.

We're doing way too much,
we do it way too often.
What used to be a crutch
has become a coffin.
It's been good to be alive,
but I've simply got to go.
Someone's on the other line
and they're calling for my soul.

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