He bears the heart of his only son in a tiny mason jar
And plays the funeral music from the moving train-line cars
The water on the window reminds him of the tears
He has used to preserve the organ he has carried all these years

He plays their song. And the ghost of his love sings along
His cello glides. With the ghost of his absent wife.

In the winter they will bury their father in the snow
So in the springtime all his bones will surface from the soil to glow
The brothers will remember exactly how he died
In a drunken fit of jealousy to make the queen his bride

When he was on his knees. With the upturned piano keys.
Singing "Canada, won't you come home my love?"

She sits upon a wooden swing high above the stage
And he can't believe it's her he sees cause the years hold not a trace
But her memory cannot recall the life she left behind
And his broken heart will accompany his mental health's decline

She sings their song. But the tune comes out all wrong.
Her tapeworm cries, "He was the one, the song, your life!"

His brother the American holds his bloodied side
He stumbles across the burning stage while the fire rises high
He finally sees his destiny, his fortune falls in place
In the thundering crescendo of the white inferno flames

But the music plays. It comes through sick, malformed, depraved
His body glows. With the fire from the hells below!