God speed all the bakers at dawn
May they all cut their thumbs
And bleed into their buns 'till they melt away
I'm looking in on the good life I might be doomed never to find
Without a trust or flaming fields am I too dumb to refine?
And if you'd 'a took to me like, well
I'd a-danced like the queen of the eyesores
And the rest of our lives would have fared well