Rain of the people's falling down from the sky Rolling from the roof, I can't sleep tonight Humans on plane are buying coffee with laugh They don't know pilot's gone and he won't come back Clown on the street stands trying to smile Thinking 'bout his home, where stands an empty bath Let it be empty and stand in that home, because Baths are made for standing alone
Blade in the sandbox's lying, covered with the sand Soaking up the sniff of children's hands Owner of roast he's young, he likes when it's cold Warmer places reminds him one day he'll be old Clown on the street stands, thinking 'bout his bath Master of forgiveness, master of the crime Respect our baths for all they could be Because they see the things, that they don't want to see
