Woorden: Mountain Goats, The. Birth of Serpents.

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
Sit low, rise high, and 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