You laughed for the marrow in their bones that was not yet ready for laughter;
And you wept for their eyes that yet were dry.
Your voice fathered their thoughts and their understanding.
Your voice mothered their words and their breath.

The Hour of Death waits for no order. Death does not even come from the front. It is ever pressing on from behind. All men know of Death, but they do not expect it of a sudden, and it comes upon them unawares. So, though the dry flats extend far out, soon the tide comes and floods the beach.

My song can make you cry, take you by surprise
At the same time, can make your dry your eyes with the same rhyme
See what you're seeing is a genius at work
Which to me isn't work, so it's easy to misinterpret it at first

If I had a hammer, I'd build a city on stilts so my feet would stay dry when God's wine glass tilts. If I had a shovel, I'd dig a hole in the dirt and I'll be hiding when his drunken stupor lands upon earth