Hello, Clay, my son

Oh, you’re happy, good, good

The sculptor said as he stood

Trying to have some fun

With his clay-made son

How are you?

Was it swell?

I’m glad it’s been going well

Things have been good for me, too

Even with all the things I have to do

The man had nothing to do

He was only in a room all alone with no one there

Other than him and the “son” he wants to care

To love and hang out with, too

Just so he wouldn’t have to stew

Always being busy is not very fun

But now, I’m with you, my boy

Do you want to play the usual, The Cowboy?

Where you’re the target, and I’m the one

Who’s the cowboy who holds the gun

I’m so happy that you’re happy, Clay

The man ran off to get out his hat and gun

So the man and his son could have fun

The cowboy way

While in the man’s workshop on this day

The man got out the hat and gun

Ready to go

Hey, son, you know

This reminds me of a time, this one

Where you, you, my son

Did something really funny

That got you shot in the head

Looking really funny when you were full of lead

Blood flowing, guts slowly spilling, all so free

So sad, my job, my wife, my life taken from me

Because of you

You ruining my life

Taking away everything from me like my wife

You made me quite blue

So now, you will die, too

The man started to shoot

Getting right at the chest and head

The clay started mushing like soggy bread

Acting like a typically crazed brute,

All the man did was continue to shoot

You will die, too!

YOU will die, too!

YOU WILL die, too!

YOU WILL DIE, too!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

YOU WILL DIE, TOO!

The man put the gun down

Seeing how many holes Clay had

How mushed up he was, the destroyed lad

The radiant smile went to a serious frown

Crying, trembling like a scared clown

Son, son, is that you?

Why are you like that?

Oh God, what happened, Matt?

You’re just about everywhere, you!

The man held what was left of clay and Matt, too

The man sobbed as he tried hugging the clay

Sobbing and sobbing, making the clay worse

Like a witch strengthening their curse

Today was just getting worse, oh, today

For the poor man, lying there all gray

You, you killed my son again

The man points to the gun

I will show you some fun!

He tried strangling it, holding the gun again

I guess, for you, this is the end