Here is a bed and here is a room And here are the things that happen to you. Here is the fly on the window ledge Near the web formed too quickly and too soon, And out this window and across this street Lives the man that will stab your father, Smiling and dancing with a beautiful woman. And next door playing on the lawn Are boys who will grow up to be liars That polish dimes with their wives’ favorite dresses. And this is the wood Your mother wants the coffin made of. And here, again, but for the last time, Appears the enchanted child, Stepping out of a bleak hallway Into the living room. She cups her hands into your cold world And bring up a spider that speaks to you: It’s coming, it’s coming, What will you do?