It's too hot babe, pull the covers back

Don't touch me babe, I don't remember ever liking that

Don't touch me babe, roll over

O brother, you don't know what you've got, only time flies...

You've gotta do some clockwork

Sometimes you hear the broken bell sound up on the whore's hill

The ladies clamor for the Salvo's sale, bickering like little girls

For second hand womens' things, for countless prying mans' hands

O working girl, you don't get round enough, it's like yr daddy says...

You gotta do some clockwork

(in a berth of the port wharf the song of the penitent sailor... upon

What stage? A slab in the gut of a Japanese whaler... a material blue

And tailored and time is a tailor... both brief and slow.)

Now I can hear the broken bell

Now I can hear the clockwork

It has me reaching for the hidden rail

It has me listening for the song bird

But I hear it very minor

But I hear it very minor...

O singer, I don't believe your song, or your lying lines

O singer, I don't believe your song, or your lying lines...

You've gotta do some clockwork:

The Pneuma, Cecilian, the Metzler, Angelus, Virtuos, Apollo, Paragon, Minerva, Stella

Clockwork, all clockwork

O but I didn't write this song with a machine

And I don't know how to stop it from its accidental purpose