When that scrawny figure knocks at your door.
Do you shirk to hide beneath the floor...

I was born of a Scottish mum,
And a father who was Irish...

I said the life is not for everyone!
And in time it wouldn't be for me...

I often think of myself as a machine.
My miles of veins, tendons and sticky bits...

He looks down from his glass tower
And surveys his world below...

To some they are a novelty,
To others they are a toy...

When you walk into the darkness,
What exactly do you see...

When you come across a bridge,
That will traverse a river or a stream...

Spring arrives and leaves appear on trees,
Warming Sun kisses wanton skin...

I don't know how you do it!
But you have my total respect...

My name, it is not Jack,
And I do not have a spring...

This is not an ode to Freddy,
Though his words seem rather apt...