Your heart sings like a kettle
and your words, they boil away like steam.
A lie burns long while the truth bites quick,
a heart is built for both it seems.
You are lonely as a church,
despite the queuing out your door.
I am empty as a promise, no more.

When the time comes,
and rights have been read,
I think of you often
but for once I meant what I said.

I was salted by your hunger,
now you've gone and lost your appetite
and a little bird is every bit as handy in a fight.
I am lonely as a memory
despite the gathering round the fire.
Aren't you every bird on every wire?

When the time comes,
and rights have been read,
I think of you often
but for once I meant what I said.
Here I stay, I lay me down,
in a house by the Hill.
Dug from the rubble, cut from the kill.