HEY MR LINCOLN
He stood before a picture painted blue and gray and red
While tugging on his beard as if a price was on his head
So we sat him down and said
“Hey, what’s the trouble, Mr. Lincoln?
Mr. Lincoln, why the long face?
What’s the skinny, man?”
He belted out a song to which a half a whole room paled
The mystic chords of memory, the splitting sound that railed
First the heart stops, then it fails
“Hey, what’s the trouble, Mr. Lincoln?
Mr. Lincoln, why the long face?
What’s the skinny, man?”
“Hey, what’s the trouble, Mr. Lincoln?
Mr. Lincoln, why the long face?
What’s the skinny, man?”
A world of disappointment wasn’t something he could feign
No, he’s tearing up his body
We’ve got to save his brain
So we sit him down again
“Hey, what’s the trouble, Mr. Lincoln?
Mr. Lincoln, why the long face?
What’s the skinny, man?
What’s the skinny, man?”