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Sonny boy wore a silver chain,
And he saw the tracks to the train.
But I held a hat in my hand that fit my past to a 'T',
Broken easily.

Took the street from the curb below,
Where it's too disturbing to go.
Holding a needle in my hand above the symphony,
Broken easily.

While the trumpets blare,
Dissipate to air,
And I got praying hands hanging from a silver chain.
With a talent for catastrophe that I can't explain,
And when I count the steps to safety that I know won't protect me,
From pain, it just doesn't work today.

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