Oh cheeky cheeky
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Oh naughty sneeky
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You're so perceptive and I wonder how you knew.
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But these finks don't walk too well
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A bad sense of direction
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And so they stumble round in threes
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Such a strange collection.
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Oh you headless chicken
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Can those poor teeth take so much kicking?
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You're always so charming
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As you peck your way up there.
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And these finks don't dress too well
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No discrimination
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To be a zombie all the time
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Requires such dedication.
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Oh please, sir will you let it go by
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'Cos I failed both tests with my legs both tied
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In my place the stuff is all there
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I've been ever so sad for a very long time
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My my they wanted the works can you this and that
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I never got a letter back
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More fool me bless my soul
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More fool me bless my soul.
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Oh perfect masters
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They thrive on disasters
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They all look so harmless
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Till they find there way up there.
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But dead finks don't talk too well
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They've got a shaky sense of diction
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It's not so much a living hell
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It's just a dying fiction.
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-----------------
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Dead Finks Don't Talk
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| Brian Eno |
