Heavens
The earth was covered up in grenadine

The day he died
He stood up laughing at the edge of the rack
With a barrel
Over his head

Well, I guess the trampoline would bring him higher
His hands were always reaching to the sky
Now the wretched tones
Of smashing bones
Took the catcher in the rye

Now memories
Of sweaty rubber pants and Tirolean

Haunts the man
Who cracked the decades with the edge of his palms
In the face of
The queen of the prom

And now his boys are getting bigger
And the apples never fall far from the tree
In a fistful of aggression
A mouth-full of debris

Now Mr. Slim skipped the gym
He broke a fingers and a rib, but they told him that he's gonna be fine

He didn't care
For cannonball
And for football he was always too clumsy but he liked to fall

Yesterday's
Superstars
On trampoline
With turtlenecks
Came marching through the secondary school
And by the pool
They found his favourite Freudian slippers
And a catcher in the rye