You're sorting out the rules
Of how you should live your life
You disregard the truth
I'm hoping you'll change your mind

Something in the way you keep me on the kitchen floor
I don't know what the birds and bees are for
You're sorting out the rules
Reporting the grace you find

You're making me smile the only way you can
In taking the role of the martyr
Your shekels are easily spent
I think you belong in the yard where
Everyone's faces are clean
Everyone's faces are clean

Every time you think about the substances you are
And if you're made from something made from stars
You're sorting out the rules
Exploring your space and time

You're taking a while to show your bleeding hands
Comparing your markings to Zlatko's
The sores and sensations of pain
I think you belong in the Cosmos
Where everything waits to be seen
Where everything waits to be seen