Holy Chord

I can't know what I should say

To soothe your headaches and make your day reasonable

The constant change of folks don't stay the same

They fly by night and crawl by day

I could try the holy chord

The seeds of hay, the hay of the march

They're all the same in different ways

Like poultry games and the baptist monks

Who raised these chickens as their own personal slaves

The hee, the caw, the chain

The battery thinking chain of songs and games

Who could say what we can go changing

What cool solvent rubs away the steam stuck

To our eyes and stuck in our closets?

The same great messages that are wrapped up

In the same vain messages that always stay the same

What does it mean to take off all our clothes

And look into your eyes and say I mean it?