Standing stiff at attention,
Break-dancing inside your soul,
Dreaming that you are a general,
And that you've got extra-sens'ry control,
Knowing that you're the embodiment,
Of everything they hold dear,
The whole world is only a stage,
Set only for you to appear.
Kozly, Kozly. My words aren't especially pretty,
Nor are they terribly crass.
I'm only stating a fact alas.
In the do-it-yourself TV shows,
They tell you exactly how
But who feels glory or joy,
From the job they are doing now?
The more you talk about,
The more valuable you are
At work we swim in ice water,
In bed we are fighting a war.
Kozly, Kozly. Full of self-righteousness,
Tied up into knots.
I'm the same only worse, and I tell you Kozly:
Until I turn into clover,
Until you turn into a psalm,
Our bodies are swords,
Our souls are calm,
Our breath is sacred,
We move along loving them all,
But give us an inkling of strength, oh Lord,
We'll squeeze them under control.
Kozly, Kozly. My words aren't especially friendly,
Nor are they evil or mean.
It just makes me sad that we could have been human. Kozly.