(Mon petit chou...)

A man overshadowed by his hands

And their black puppets dancing on the wall

The tungsten tells me names are supposed to stretch a mile on

But I need your voice to sleep

I can't watch you break your jaw

Their fingers are making a mockery of me

Baptised by the crying sky in California

Sandy's pitching elbow rumbled down

The left of God was burning for more war upon the mound

Cause Koufax was a lion once

But he got to keep the crown

My fingers are making a mockery of me

A bid to live forever, stuck

Throwing stones through paper walls

My pride is draped in the clutches of ambition's lying coat

These crows found home

I'll hold my tongue

But the beautiful are all too soon confounded with the young

And your fingers are making a mockery of me