Strings of love, and not of twine.
Searching for what, he cannot find...

When I was young, the sky was blue,
When in the backyard, I would play...

The first time I saw you, I knew you were mine.
We stood together, in the dark we would shine...

You are the thunder, to the mournful start,
The storm, which brews deep in my heart...

No more the winged birds that sweep,
Through the tree tops; soft and deep...

When we wonder what you’re doing
You’re probably on the toilet...