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?