I built a man made out of bricks, and lived inside his chest I beat my head against the wall to make a heart deep in his breast I smashed my fist against his ribs to suck the air inside
Well I didn't tell anyone, But a bird flew by. Saw what I'd done. He set up a nest outside, And he sang about what I'd become. He sang so loud, Sang so clear. I was afraid all the neighbours would hear, So I invited him in, just to reason with him. I promised I wouldn't do it again.
I picked up the bird and above the din I said "That's the last song you'll ever sing". Held him down, broke his neck, Taught him a lesson he wouldn't forget.
I opened my mouth to scream and shout, I waved my arms and flapped about. But I couldn't scream and I couldn't shout, couldn't scream and I couldn't shout.
I run to the river and dive straight in I pray that the water will drown out the din But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out But as the water fills my mouth It couldn't wash the echoes out.