She chose the soft center

And took it to bed with her mother

And the ideal confusion

Was just an illusion

To gain further news of her brother.

And the comfort of mother

Was just an appeal for protection

For the cat from next door

Was found later at four

In surgical dissection.

And I don't want to be

The son of any freak

Who for a chocolate center

Can take you off the street.

For soon they'll plough the desert

And god knows where I'll be

Collecting submarine numbers

On the main street of the sea.

The vicar is thicker

And I just can't see through to him

For his cardinal sings

A collection of hymns

And a collection of coins is made after.

And who wrote the bible

Was it judas or pilate

Well one cleans his hands

While the other one hangs

But still I continue to stand.