I’m coming up only to hold you under.
And coming up only to show you’re wrong.
And to know you is hard, we wonder.
To know you all wrong, we warn.
Really too late to call, so we wait for
morning to wake you, is all we got.
To know me as hardly golden
is to know me all wrong, they warn.
At every occasion I’ll be ready for the funeral.
At every occasion, once more, it’s called the funeral.
At every occasion, oh, I’m ready for the funeral.
At every occasion, oh, one billion day funeral.