Thunderclaps

Watch them speak in thunderclaps No one more or much as Jack It's a knock 'em dead show: Pipes and joints, greased hinge and bone One more for the slaughterhouse CHANT Force from the butcher, machine-like One mighty hand at shoulder height Feet tread heavy on black floor, Look at the breadth of those fingers One more for the Chopping board CHANT Cast me in this violent light, Pull my hands from my eyes CHANT Thunderclaps fly through low-light Jack sits amongst them in the sky There's no place here for me tonight but Jack needs no invite Lunging for the meat and prize Lunging with his roving eyes CHANT Hours go by In thunderous form, I can't go on I can't go on RANT I'll do myself in, I'll pick up this thing Sits heavy in my hand I'll do myself in