He put his hands on me
And for a hesitating moment
We waited for the gold

He'd rather have something more forming to hold
And I'd rather not be reminded of the cold

So for a moment
Let's pretend you're not dead
And I'll silence the dread
Of not getting up
Because it's not his head

And the walls
They want to yell it all
To say go back to hell
And now my soul is still to sell

But the metal on his overall
Buttons
Is colder than the metal
Under my forearms
And it still isn't enough
Because nothing is ever enough

But Bob the Builder
Can do anything with the snap
Of a bony finger