There is three million,
Thirty two thousand and four pieces of grass on...

The knowing of such great boundaries,
Sends shards of glass through my flaming heart...

When she looks at me
She See's right through...

I once knew a story of a sad sorry selfish little...
who was everything but aboriginal...

The clouds were moving fast today
while the tree's were slow and full...

It's nothin' but numb now.
It's only ever been there since that day...

Simply because there little fingers brush,
and there gentle lips allow them to kiss...

Every time he's a hero,
The clear bottle of absolute empties...