Besedila: Tori Amos. Other. After All.

Please trip them gently, they don't like to fall, oh by jingo.
There's no room for anger, we're all very small, oh by jingo.
We're painting our faces and dressing in thoughts from the skies, from paradise.
They think that we're holding a secretive ball.
Won't someone invite them- they're just taller children,
That's all... after all... ooh-ho-ho...

Man is an obstacle, sad as the clown, oh by jingo.
So hold on to nothing, he won't let you down, oh by jingo.
Some people are marching together, but some on their own, quite alone.
Others are running, the smaller ones crawl.
But some sit in silence- they're just older children,
That's all... after all... oh-ho-ho...


I sing with impertinence, shading impermanent chords with my words.
I've borrowed your time, I'm sorry I called.
The thought just occurred that we're nobody's children,
At all... after all... ho...
Live your rebirth and do what you will, oh by jingo.
Forget all I've said, please bear me no ill, oh by jingo.
After all...