| Sat in the corner of the garden grill
|
| With the plastic flowers on the windowsill
|
| No more miracles, loaves and fishes
|
| Been so busy with the washing of the dishes
|
| Reaction level’s much too high, I can do without the stimuli
|
| I’m living way beyond my ways and means
|
| Living in the zone of the in-betweens
|
| I can see the flashes on the frozen ocean
|
| Static charge of the cold emotion
|
| Watched on by the distant eyes
|
| Watched on by the silent, hidden spies
|
| But still the warmth flows through me And I sense you know me well
|
| No luck, no golden chances
|
| No mitigating circumstances now
|
| It’s only common sense
|
| There are no accidents around here
|
| I am willing, lay your hands on me
|
| I am ready, lay your hands on me
|
| I believe, lay your hands on me, over me Working in gardens, thornless roses,
|
| Fat men play with their garden hoses
|
| Poolside laughter has a cynical bite,
|
| Sausage speared by the cocktail satellite
|
| I walk away from from light and sound,
|
| Down stairways leading underground
|
| But still the warmth flows through me And I sense you know me well
|
| It’s only common sense
|
| There are no accidents around here
|
| I am willing, lay your hands on me
|
| I am ready, lay your hands on me
|
| I believe, lay your hands on me, over me Over me |