Tinman In The Pigsty

They say it’s once a week that they sit on a pew,
so they can’t say what they want to.
Bust my buttons, a road of a different color
A couple of tra-la-las
Grab a heart, let’s go

And maybe, maybe
We’ll find a new way to where we went
And father, father
I’ll still hear the words you once sent
Oh mother, mother
Now I understand what it is you meant
Now different, different
Your door is open, it’s time to represent

Chuckle at catastrophe
Laughing back at how we got here
Dark is nothing when you’re blind

Sepia spews pigsty scowls of places safe and new
Nope. They don’t say what they want to.
Shoes or no shoes, got enough power to break
A couple of tra-la-las
Oil me up, let’s go

Impractical unless unbreakable