Florence and the Machine Follow

My boy builds coffins,
with hammers and nails,
he doesn't build ships,
he has no use for sails.
He doesn't make tables,dressers or chairs,
he can't carve a whistle,
'cos he just doesn't care.
My boy builds coffins for the rich and the poor,
kings and queens have all knocked on his door,
beggars and liars,gypsys and thieves
they all come to him 'cos he's so eagar 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,
he's made one for me too,
and one of these days he'll make one, make one for you.
My boy builds coffins for better or worse,
some say it's a blessing,
some say it's a curse.
He fits them together all in sunshine or rain,
each one is unique, no two are the same.
My boy builds coffins
and I think it's shame,
that when each one's been made he can't see it again,
he crafts every one with the love and with care,
then it's thrown in the ground
and it just isn't fair.
My boy builds coffins
he makes them all day,
and it's not just for work
and it isn't for play
he's made one for himself,
one for me too,
and one of these days he'll make one, make one for you,
oh you you, you gotta make one, make one for yourself.
Oh oh oh oh ooooooh.