Hope, was not a Smith family traditionnNeither was coming home sober with your paycheck still intactnAt least tension was a tangible situation nUnlike fate, and disease, and the cricket songs of regretnnWords, were not the Smith family was of discussing what they all knew was a curse in a Language children can't speaknThe devil got his tongue in a state of progress finding new ways of adding more Splinters to the blood in our veinsnnHallelujah our little boy of ten, has reached the top of the field again and he's gone, Out like the photograph; you had perched on the mantlepiecenWho's to say that if he gotten off that rattlesnake he would both survived and been Great? But he's gone just like all your other kids I assume, never to be bitten againnnStick by the phone til the wind dies downnPray for polar ice caps to flood this town nHe'll call her with instructions for old and young alikenShe knows he'll disagree when she says let them dienThis ain't no disaster this is the prince of parlor teanReclaiming wooden tables on behalf of the king and queennThe contents of your stomach fall within our lavish realm guards grind them up, we can't Survive without our champagne and colognennHallelujah our little friend of god, missed his tetanus shot and he got lockjaw now he's Gone, folded like a deck of cards buried out by the wishing wellnI saw his ghost looking just like he did in life, with his nose turned up at immigrant Rights now he's poised, to haunt us for eternity, I would know if I was spiritual nnHallelujah our little boy of ten, has reached the top of the field againnAnd he's gone, out like the photograph; you had perched on the mantlepiece who's to say That if he gotten off that rattlesnake he both have survived and been great?nBut he's gone, just like all your other kids I assume, never to be bitten again...