Birth of Serpents - The Mountain Goats

Let the camera pull back

'Til the fullness of the frame is clear and plain

Peer into the screen until you see it all

Like a vision in a crystal ball

Let it all fill with smoke

Is this somebody’s idea of a joke?

Let the fixer work until the silver’s washed away

And take the picture from the tray

Look hard at what you see and then remember you and me

And let the truth spring free

Like a jack-in-the-box

Like a hundred-thousand cuckoo clocks

From the Oregon corners to the Iowa corn

To the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born

Crawl through the tunnel and follow, follow the light northwest

See that young man who dwells inside his body like an uninvited guest

See the tunnel twist

Clutch your birthright in your fist

Let the camera do its dirty work down there in the dark

Sink low, rise high

Bring back some blurry pictures to remember all your darker moments by

Permanent bruises on our knees

Never forget what it felt like to live in rooms like these

From the California coastline to the Iowa corn

To the rooms with the heat lamps where the snakes get born