I'm no longer the newborn,
Though that's all I know as [bad word] 
I've returned from the ocean,
Cradlin' the Denver boot.
Bare feet walk the hills of Frisco,
Soft boys cut their eyes to me.
The [bad word] is, I let down my Father,
I throw my boots back in the water,
They are hollow, they are hollow.

Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow

At that dead goat farm outside Denver,
Father was living in his broken-down coupe.
The helling held him in a bad way,
His body revenged as he asked for the [bad word] 
I cradled my father in my arms;
With my nails I scraped his sick away;
I put my nail clips in a bottle, a trophy on the dash...
But when the sun shine through the bottle
It is hollow, it is hollow.

Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow,
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow

I can't wear the Denver boot,
I can't wear the Denver boot,
I can't wear the Denver boot,
I can't wear...

And I will bronze my father's body,
Mount it outside my factories.
The first will be a see-through glassworks;
The other will be a [bad word] goat farm.
And I will blow perfect bottles,
And I will squeeze the goats myself,
I will drown the world of its helling.
I hope my will [bad word] up hollow...

Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow
Hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow, hollow