Utensils

Spoons and knives clang so bold Plates are silent. Truth’s untold Whisks and ladles play the part The cook is here to drink your blood What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils The cup is dreaming of your lips Its handle trembles of your fingertips Like other object in the morning tray Will be quickly eaten or thrown away What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils Look at that that miserable vase His throat is stuffed with the flowers Locked in the drawer like your jewels They have no soul. They are just tools What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils What are, what are men They are just utensils