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Leapfrog over fences.. Little time, less senses.. Here by this railway cutting.. Life goes quick and it goes without warning.. That's how life is in my bombsite dwelling..
We're talking into corners. Finding ways to fill the vacuum. And though our mouths are dry. We talk in hope to hit on something new. . Tied to the railway track.
Uncharted wrecks of wonder.. In deepest gloom down under.. The drowning men are drawing near.. . We're the subterranean vandals,. Tying air lines around door handles..
I'm lying in the hospital. I'm pinned against the bed. A stethoscope upon my heart. A hand against my head. . They're peeling off the bandages. I'm wincing in the light.
Maybe - maybe a fool for trusting.. Maybe - maybe a fool for following.. The God of wisdom not of love.. . But I'm riding with the new church.. I'm riding with the new church..
We say don't show your guns, if you don't intend to fight. We say don't sleep all day, if you can't keep awake at night. Don't screw it up. Don't be a hero..
We're out on a limb.. Should we let the newboys in?. We think they can't do no harm.. Let's humour them.. But they need some passion inside.. They take it like a cigarette..