Waving his withering pencil as if it were a pirate's cutlass
Threw himself across the mattress
He said, "That's how the child in me planned it
Waving his withering pencil as if it were a pirate's cutlass
'Cause man made the blade and the pistol
To temper his tantrum with magic
I believe there was something that I wanted to say
Before I conclude this epistle
A woman wouldn't understand it"
I'm almost certain he's trying to increase his burden
I'm almost certain he's trying to increase his burden
But you would forgive me for holding my tongue
He's screaming some words at the top of his lungs
The length of the ribbon in his little typewriter
Our trembling punch-drunken fighter
Since he punched a hole in the fabric
Poor fractured Atlas
Threw himself across the mattress
Yes, man made the waterfall and the dam
But back at his desk in the city we find
Poor fractured Atlas
Until he begins to feel younger
Who can't find the strength now to punish
Now you can't be sure of that ten of azure
He said, "That's how the child in me planned it
