I suppose, when you wake up And the dream you goes dodo You will find, in your front pocket One of those stubby golf pencils Convincing living, That you, yourself is convinced of living Till your kidneys can't clean the convinced out of your true blue blood stream And are you not now, professionally hoodwinked An easy street penis throbbing down breezy streets In a b-line like, easy like, bees like, brokedown icecream truck's leaks (x2) Convincing You see, however so slightly permanent, these have been things sung that will never be songs (x4) Oh (x6) Oh, I suppose, Not swansongmeat, mor bit nails spit, with strips of skin from chickens' lips, Not wet concrete, No stolen sleep, When the water is sheets and bleeding sheep Hung horrible hymns to a durable beat, and re-recordable grief (x4) Oh, I suppose