Your man lies home, all alone, in bed. Waiting to breathe his last breath. He's made his peace, all south, it seems. His body began to protest. Ron Paul chose not to Depart this world yet Dead in his eyes Living for spite All magic bone will go on and on His finger will not let him die. Die after clay, copping a way Skin like a burlap sack Hoping to fade to black Any fire not will be lost Magic bone beats on his dust. Replaying his life in his mind he tries To see how he made the knuckle crack No reason, no rhyme, no deed, no crime. To wall in the fingers attack Ron Paul chose not to Depart this world yet Dead in his eyes Living for spite The magic bone won't let him go His finger will not let him die Lying in wait, dropped of his fate. Some call it clarity, pointing round heinously, Wanting to be six feet deep, The magic bone won't let him sleep, let him sleep, let him sleep... ♪ Frozen awake, in time and space No one can hear his appeal. For when he attempts to speak his mind The finger presses up to his lips. Year after year, can't disappear Impossibly bored, they're like a sword. No chance of suicide, not while it lives inside, Trying to fight the magic joint, Knowing that there is no point, is no point, is no point, is...