Until [[God reassembles]], [[the wizard man]] will waddle [[every mid-morning]] to gather coffee grains and water
every mid-morning I find my limbs mangled by the rigid rooted routine of a force larger than me
[[the wizard man]] walks on indifferent
I wave him down like a bus, but he doesn't want my [[singing]], [[not yet]]
The day God reassembles, war ends
Hatred becomes extinct, and we all finally agree.
But [[not yet]]
The wizard man knows the deal
He knew it way before you
that's why his hair is in shambles
and he can't wait to fool you
about that time he caught you [[singing]]
into the empty air.
For if [[God reassembles]], you really shouldn't care
For [[every mid-morning]] the same rigor mortis
of life and languid longing, of all those songs we should be [[singing]], until [[God reassembles]]
The harpsichord cry for heaven
Only comes from a hollow of brass-tube like beings
And with these empty holes in ourselves, we sing [[the wizard man]]'s seeings
Until [[God reassembles]] .