| Out of the flying pan and into the fire
|
| Swimming against the tide and sinking into the mire
|
| I’m getting the hang of haning in blissful suspension
|
| Letting the tongue in groove and following it’s direction
|
| Oh, but we can only fantasise
|
| Death’s kiss is all I need to find
|
| But in the meantime I’ll load my pipe and guess
|
| Theres is a place where matter ceases to matter
|
| And if I could take you there, we’d set up a home on saturn
|
| Spin in a endless orbit, wheeling and reeling
|
| Rever missing the time, the day or the floor or ceiling
|
| Oh, but we can only fantasise
|
| Death’s kiss is all I need to find
|
| But in the meantime I’ll load my pipe and guess
|
| Out of the flying pan and into the fire
|
| Swimming against the tide and sinking into the mire
|
| I’ve still got a lot to learn but I’ve learned to be thankful
|
| The flashes of truth I’ve seen are worth the rentless battle
|
| Oh, but we can only fantasise
|
| Death’s kiss is all I need to find
|
| But in the meantime I’ll load my pipe and guess
|
| Out of the flying pan and into the fire… |