The nights, my friend, haven't ever been this hot.
The children've stopped laughing, now they only sweat,
and you could put their sweat into a pot
and cook fish soup, so long's you've got a net.
Speaking of fish, I fried one on my foot
and how it got there heaven only knows.
Looked like it was sunburnt black with soot,
so then I toasted bread on my elbows,
alls I did was add a little cheese.
It melted in the night skyfall of smoke,
the children burning, begging, Jesus, please
blow out this heat. And then it's like God awoke
'cause when the children spoke, the sky turned pink.
Children's prayers must be that magic link.
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