Pull me into your coloring books
Paint me into your bright adventures
Kiss me under the mistletoe
Open mouth on my brand new dentures
A terrible cliche
The product of parents
Who met in the future
And moved to the past
Make me into your kettle drum
Turn me into your black percussion
Pull me into your parking shed
Make believe I'm your second cousin
Because I'm a salesman
Who stepped on the pavement
And fell on landmine
Instead of his face
All big men have a gravity
That draws them to the sun
And gives them their control
All big men have a gravity
That draws them to the sun
And gives them their control
How soon is not?