You may not always be so grateful 
For the way that you were made 
Some feature of your father’s 
That you’d gladly sell or trade 
And one day you may look at us 
And say that you were cursed 
But over time that line has been 
Extremely well rehearsed 
By our fathers, and their fathers 
In some old and distant town 
From places no one here remembers 
Come the things we’ve handed down