Wind-Up

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And taught me how not to play the game

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success

Or if they said that I was just a fool.

So I left there in the morning

With their God tucked underneath my arm

Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

And I asked this God a question

And by way of firm reply

He said, "I'm not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays"

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)

Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers

I don't believe you

You had the whole damn thing all wrong

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays.

Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

How do you dare tell me that I'm my Father's son?

When that was just an accident of birth

I'd rather look around me, compose a better song

'Cos that's the honest measure of my worth

In your pomp and all your glory you're a poorer man than me

As you lick the boots of death born out of fear

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And taught me how not to play the game

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success

Or if they said that I was just a fool

I left there in the morning

With their God under my arm

Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules

Well, you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

Have all the bishops harmonize these lines

When I was young and they packed me off to school

And they taught me how not to play the game

I didn't mind if they groomed me for success

Or if they said that I was just a fool

So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares)

Before I'm through I'd like to say my prayers

Well you can excommunicate me on my way to Sunday school

And have all the bishops harmonize these lines

I don't believe you

You had the whole damn thing all wrong

He's not the kind you have to wind up on Sundays