Watch them speak in thunderclapsnNo one more or much as JacknIt's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bonenOne more for the slaughterhousennForce from the butcher, machine-likenOne mighty hand at shoulder heightnFeet tread heavy on black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingersnOne more for the Chopping boardnnCast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyesnnThunderclaps fly through low-lightnJack sits amongst them in the skynThere's no place here for me tonight but Jack needs no invitenLunging for the meat and prize Lunging with his roving eyesnnHours go by In thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go onnnI'll do myself in, I'll pick up this thingnSits heavy in my handnI'll do myself in