Tell me what have I done to deserve this golden sun?
To deserve this golden sun, what have I done?
I was walking down by the tracks where the communist bees relax
In their hives of golden wax when I thought I should run
I was whistling past the grave
The grave of old Tom Paine
When I heard my mother call my name
Fly away home
She was watching the Price is Right
Or the Wheel with Vanna White
Wrapped in ephemeral light
With her head in her hands
It's a mystery so surreal
No newsman will ever reveal
How destiny spun the wheel
And killed my old man
I was whistling past the grave
The grave of old Tom Paine
When I heard my mother call my name
Fly away home
Well my father was poor as the rain
And his father was poor the same
And I'm poor as poor Hart Crane
But that's neither here nor there
And I'm wasted and nearly in tears
With the same old working class fears
Pulling coins from the children's ears in grief and despair
I was whistling past the grave
The grave of old Tom Paine
When I heard my mother call my name
Fly away home