Enveloped by dumb babies
Who cannot read a word
I'd rather be a-flyin'
Till then I'll just be dead.
(Bled 'n' bleedin', dyin', nothin' new, goo-goo.)
Prefer a cradle to a sty
But babies love to waddle
No wonder people play with knives
And babies love the bottle.
(I Love the Sky.)