Il testo della Yard

In our yard
How many chickens can we count
On our fingers and toes
On their toes
Sitting on fathers hole
Siting on his chest
Crushing rocks of dirt
The earth is soft in our
Yard yard
Stones in my shoes
And feet
Dragging them through museums
Where
Under glass
Refridgerate
Freeze
Hands and feet
And knobbly knees
Yard yard