Punchdrunk
Far
Tin Cans With Strings To You (1996)

It wore him down
His head was hanging sideways,
His lids were slits.
This happened almost nightly now.
He raised the glove
And waited for another round.

He waited for the bell to ring,
He prayed the lord would save his eyes.
He heard church-folk swaying and sighing
"it's all right."

He liked his kids,
He liked his sky-blue Valiant,
He like the pay.
"The boss' fine young talent"
They all would say.
And just a pension later
He'll be free,
Do what he wants.
Bereave the dream,
Now sleep,
Now slowly die