My boy builds coffins with hammers and nails-He doesn't build ships, he has no use for sails-He doesn't make tables, dresses or chairs-He can't carve a whistle cause he just doesn't care-My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor-Kings and queens them all knocked on his door-Beggars and liars, gypsies and thieves-They all come to impact he's so eager to please-My boy builds coffins he makes them all day-But it's not just for work and it isn't for play-He's made one for himself-One for me too-One of these days he'll make one for you-My boy builds coffins for better or worse-Some say its a blessing, some say its a curse-He fits them together in sunshine or rain-Each one is unique, no two are the same-My boy builds coffins and i think it's a shame-That when eachones been made, he can't see it again-He crafts every one with love and repair-Then its thrown in the ground and it just doesn't fit-My boy builds coffins he makes them all day-But it's not just for work and it isn't for play-He's made one for himself-One for me too-One of these days he'll make one for you...
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