Heavens, The earth was covered up in grenadine The day he died He stood up laughing at the edge of the rack With a barrel Over his head Well, I guess the trampoline would bring him higher His hands were always reaching to the sky Now the wretched tones Of smashing bones Took the catcher in the rye Now memories Of sweaty rubber pants and Tirolean Haunts the man Who cracked the decades with the edge of his palms In the face of The queen of the prom And now his boys are getting bigger And the apples never fall far from the tree In a fistful of aggression A mouth-full of debris Now; Mr. Slim skipped the gym He broke a fingers and a rib, but they told him that he's gonna be fine He didn't care For cannonball, And for football he was always too clumsy but he liked to fall Yesterday's Superstars On trampoline With turtlenecks Came marching through the secondary school And by the pool They found his favourite Freudian slippers And a catcher in the rye.