The Toy

What a fool, familiar dream
I wake up laughing and running
From the boy crying and coming
‘Cause the toy in my hand is real

What a tomb we’re building here
In the sphere, that’s where we all die
In the eye, that’s where I’m living
The toy in my hand is real

In the room, her warm hands play
On my breast, what is she singing?
The form ringing and ringing
‘Cause the toy in my hand is real
The toy in my hand is real

Charcoal womb, the jet planes purr
And the croon, distant as paper
Children burn, faceless vapor
‘Cause the toy in my hand is real
Yes, the toy in my hand is real