It's glorious today so you know that it will pass away
The doves and snapping turtles bite at me
Catatonic ash, don't bump against them tender wounds
This petunia land smells of timothy
I have read the maps of the Patron Saint of Haggard
Arm the minds of midwives who deliver thee
My hands are not enough I will swing a hammer
Amen Corners where they'll gather and meet
On Amen Corner is where they gather, all them midwives who delivered me
Their looks are unwashed, ashamed, and haggard, seeing my hands are empty of offerings.
The took my rolled map, ripped it to tatters, turned their backs [bad word] to sing.
I stroke my dark dove, I pat my turtle, but their responce is as cold as charity.
Snapping turtles hide, scrape their teeth against their hide
Doves stumble 'round turned dark from timothy
The midwives turn to saints swinging what's delivered
On Amen Corner the haggard hammer sings
My snapping turtle it still be snapping, my dark dove can only bark at me
I pull his dark down, rip it to tatters, glue the feathers to my turtles covering.
I will swing it, my soft-hard hammer, to my midwives this is my offering
On Amen Corner, I'll be delivered, my soft-hard hammer will sing as it swings.