Em            Bm             G                 Fm
Boys run like water from the barrel to the trough.
Fm                                     
They'll never stop their running.
Bm                G            Bm   G
Gunning for their brothers.
Em              Bm
This house is a hostel.
G                   Fm
It is peaceful, but it's always emptying.
Bm             G           Bm  G
Boys all want to be someone.

Bm          Em            G           Fm
Haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird.
Fm           Bm              G              Bm    G  
I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire.
Bm           Em                  G    Fm
If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire,      
Bm             G                  Bm   G
I'll score you a string ensemble.

Bm  Em  G  Fm  Bm  G  Bm  G

Em                    Bm
I saw my son at seventeen,
  G                     Fm                         Bm G Bm  G
The shutters made projections on his naked frame.
Em            Bm
Now at twenty-five,
     G                 Fm                          Bm   G  Bm  G
He simply cannot stay away from the ketamine.
Em                 Bm
With makeup on his sores,
     G              Fm                             Bm  G  Bm  G
He spends an hour a day composing little eulogies.
Em                                 Bm
Sometimes he sends me letters,
           G            Fm                          Bm  G  Bm G
But it's mostly garbled phrases and apologies.

Bm          Em            G           Fm
Haven't you heard? I am a flightless bird.
Fm            Bm              G              Bm    G  
I am a liar, feeding facts to a false fire.
Bm             Em                G    Fm
If pathos is borne, borne out of bullshit--in formal attire,
Bm                       G       Bm  G
Cue the Bulgarian men's choir.