(words & music by Harlan Collins)

We are children, climbing higher

But our wings are melting in the sun

It's a shame the game is done

We were having so much fun

In making and then breaking all the toys

That we were taught to need

We forgot we could be freed

But we still know how to bleed a little

Hey now, Buffalo Bill

You sure must be annoyed

The cowboy scene is just a dream

The Indian's been destroyed

Ain't no way to stop what you've begun

You sit in your den and oil your gun

Just like moths before a fire

We can see the light but not the flame

There's no need to shift the blame

'Cause I'm sure we'll make the claim

In case we cried in haste and save the day

Some old scientist somewhere just got to find a way

Maybe God won't let us die

But I really don't know why He'd bother

Angry Father

Tough time, little girl

You sure must be annoyed

You live like a spy in your own home

And you feel so paranoid

'Cause mommy and daddy want their sweet, sweet child

To keep an empty head and be undefiled

We have ruined the playground

What does it matter

There will be others up in the sky

We will get to them

Gonna get to them

By and by some magic

True and tragic

We have made a monster motorcade

The machines won't let us stay

They don't need us anyway

I'm sorry

Time tolls

But the hands on the clock come apart again

Jelly rolls

And the tunes of my time bare my heart again

Time tolls

Jelly rolls

© MCMLXXIII by Harlan Collins

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