There's too many people. Planning your downfall. When your spirit's on trial. These nights can be frightening. Sleep transports sadness. To some other mid-brain. And somebody here. Will not be here next year. So you stand by the board. Full of fear and intention. And if you think that they're listening. Well you've got to be joking. Oh you understand change. And you think it's essential. But when your profession. Is humiliation. Say the wrong word to our children .... We'll have you oh yes we'll have you. Lay a hand on our children. And it's never too late to have you. Mucus on your collar. A nail up through the staff chair. A blade in your soap. And you cry into your pillow. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. Say the wrong word to our children. We'll have you oh yes we'll have you. Lay a hand on our children. And it's never too late to have you. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. To be finished would be a relief. (I'm very glad the spring has come. The sun shines out so bright. All the birds that are on the trees. Are singing for delight)