Souls standing in line
As the world pulls out its knife
To whittle them down
Carve up their lives

Does it have an idea
An insatiable need
As it keeps whittling
On them endlessly

You do have to wonder
What it truly sees
As it carves on you
And whittles on me

Like an old mountain man
By a cool mountain stream
With Father Time standing by
The world keeps on whittling

And it'll certainly not tolerate
Any back talk from you
Just sit still and be quite
Like a good piece of wood

As the world whistles
It whittles away
Impressed with itself
At the carvings it's made

But if it whittles to much
And doesn't care for the you that it's made
The world tosses you out
And lets the dogs play