I’m a chimney sweeping man
You see the black lines
On the backs of my hands

I planted all the gardens
I sent off all the hand-typed letters
To the empty shells on high

How i want to make things better

Maybe you thought i’d be president

With my cheshire grin, high iq
And charming baby blues
Well i’m a lowland forest resident

With lime in the outhouse
And black grime for tattoos


I try to make things better
I try to make things mine
I write a lot of letters

To pass the time

I pulled three hundred rocks

From the land to build my house
I walk quiet through the forest
Like a tiny quiet forest mouse


I’m a chimney sweeping man
You see the black lines

On the backs of my hands