My baby's teething in the den, And I'm to give him what's mine. He wasn't meant to walk with men (Doctors brought him round again). In his eyes there is a cure, To all the troubles in this home. It'll haunt my every bone, Force me through the great unknown. With a different name, In a different place, And a different way, Living different days. With a rifle to stay, A rifle to go. Find a fire to tend, And a martyr to mend. Find a body to bend In a million ways, 'Til the thrill of a million Has faded away. With the birth of a child Comes the end of an age, Like turning a phrase, That erases a rage.