My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails
|
He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails
|
He doesn't make tables, dressers or chairs
|
He can't carve a whistle cause he just doesn't care
|
|
My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor
|
Kings and queens; they've all knocked on his door
|
Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves
|
They all come to him 'cause he's so eager to please
|
|
My boy builds coffins he makes them all day
|
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
|
He's made one for himself
|
One for me too
|
One of these days he'll make one for you
|
For you, for you, for you
|
|
My boy builds coffins for better or worse
|
Some say its a blessing, some say its a curse
|
He fits them together in sunshine or rain
|
Each one is unique, no two are the same
|
|
My boy builds coffins and I think it's a shame
|
That when each one's been made, he can't see it again
|
He crafts everyone with love and with care
|
Then it's thrown in the ground, it just isn't fair
|
|
My boy builds coffins he makes them all day
|
But it's not just for work and it isn't for play
|
He's made one for himself
|
One for me too
|
One of these days he'll make one for you
|
|
-----------------
|
My Boy Builds Coffins
|
Florence + The Machine |