Somehow You Could Always Tell

Blood absorbed into the bread of man

Grows heavy on the plate

If bread were eaten with every meal

It wouldn't taste so great

In every kitchen in every house

On good days or in bad

Content or bitchin' you turn to the light

That falls on the things you had

And it's always something

Else you had in mind

And you always notice

When something isn't right

Let the fork fall from your right hand

Your hand

Your hand

Behold the rock and roll its mossy ass

Over on its side

Look to see the grubs and little silverfish

Scurry from the light

A child is playing with the volume knob

And the radio goes dead

A father speaks and then an ambulance

Is heard outside your head

And it's always something

Else you had in mind

And you always notice

When something isn't right

Let the stone fall back again

Again

Again