Where is your little son lost, John?
Tears, John. Tears, John.
Bruised in the rain with his overalls torn
With one shoe off, one shoe on.
Tears John. Tears, John.

And where will your little son sleep, John?
Under the smoke stacks, under the heap?
Under the tent where the canopy leaks?
Tears, John. Tears, John.

You're drowning in the grief of Jupiter's water
Let me open my teeth and cradle you there.
There's a bed for the boy and a rope for the father
Both orphaned by heaven
Where no child is spared.

To whom will your little son pray, John?
Dark are the strangers that sleep on the train
There's blood on their cots, bones on their plates
Tears, John. Tears, John.

Who then will tend to the sheep, John?
Treads in a place where the vicious gods preach.
Where claws come in sharpened on wolves in white fleece
Tears, John. Tears, John.
Tears, John. Tears, John.

You're drowning in the grief of Jupiter's water
Let me open my teeth and cradle you there.
There's a bed for the boy and a rope for the father
Both orphaned by heaven
Where no child is spared.

Swing from my limb
Render your tears
The more that you shed
The deeper it is.
Two little hands push the chair from your feet
Drowning your beautiful grief.