Poor skeleton steps out, dressed up in bad blood, bad brains, bad thoughts, and others deeds. Poor skeleton no doubt, one of these days, you can cast aside your human, be free.
When the cities run with blood, and you drink our health in mud, “All flesh be gone.”
Save your dry and joyous shout, for the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out, sprung from his life sentence deep inside some muscle mask.
Poor skeleton devout, propping up truck drivers, filmstars, thieves or queens, your brave task.
When technology is rust, and you write your book in dust, “All flesh be gone.”
Can’t buy tickets from a tout, for the day poor skeleton steps out.
Poor skeleton steps out, liberated from sex organs and brown, black, white skin.
Poor skeleton you lout, don’t you think that we might like to have been asked to join in?
For good skeletons are we, and we’re dying to be free, “All flesh be gone.”
I will scream or sulk and pout, until my poor skeleton steps out.
Look out, here comes bony boy.

Soldiers, workers, slaves and farmers, nurses, queens and drones.
Wish they’d leave my head tonight, let me rest my bones.
(Ziggedy zig zag just look at ’em.)
A billion feet sound just like a billion drums. A bed is creaking as the new messiah comes.
The cars are crashing and the bacon is hacked. The coffin’s lowered and the lunches get packed.
Still segregating ’cause we insects are too proud.
Doesn’t matter what colour of cat you are there’s no dogs allowed.
And the screaming sky won’t let me sleep.
The stars are laughing at us, as we crawl on and on across this antheap.
War planes go over but no wages go ’round. A sign goes up to say hey we’re twin towned.
The dough is rising but no bread will be baked. The fur is genuine but the orgasm’s faked.
We’re spending millions to learn to speak porpoise,
when human loneliness is still a deafening noise.
And the screaming sky won’t let me sleep.
The stars are laughing at us, as we crawl on and on across this antheap.
And all the world’s babies are crying still. While all the police cars harmonize with power drills.
As jets and kettles form a chord with screeching gulls.
Accompanied by truncheons keeping time on human skulls.
And the screaming sky won’t let me sleep.
The stars are laughing at us, as we crawl on and on past lovers who’ll leap.
On and on past widows who’ll weep.
On and on no more than skin deep.
On and on across this antheap.