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Jack went out one stormy day |
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To see where his feet would go |
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They took him from his sleeping town |
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Across land both high and low |
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They took him through the velvet streets |
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Where men walked on their toes |
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And down the slopes |
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Where bottled hell |
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And blind men lie in rows |
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Jack walked through the treacle swamps |
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And crossed the salt dry plains |
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He passed the house where tall, thin dogs |
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Pulled on their iron chains |
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He heard the songs of seed germ girls |
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Who warmed the frozen fields |
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And as Jack walked |
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He felt the corn |
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Push up his tired heels |
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He saw the heathens' heather hills |
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He watched a boiling sea |
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He met a man with wooden hands |
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Carved from an old fruit tree |
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The old man said he dreamt at night |
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Of blossom roots and knives |
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And that night when |
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Jack went to sleep |
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He dreamt of damson pies |
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Jack walked out one stormy day |
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To see where his feet would go |
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They took him north, they took him east |
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But never took him home |
