sand

so small and bland

it's slipping through my hands

it's too hard for me to try and land

upon my feet they're too weak and I can't

see through all the

sand

and there she goes again, rambling and rambling

man

he was such a lovely

man with tiny little hands

and silly pin-striped pants

and spidery dead plants

and such great plans

what a lovely

man

I wonder what she's shooting for, poor old bat

young

he was very very young

and had very strong good lungs

and was wonderfully well hung              (wink)

and had a little nice pink tongue

and shirts that would have clung

to the muscles he had when young

that's the saddest bit, when they lose track

dead

there he goes

he's dead

no more plans inside his head

no more plants needing to be fed

no more cases to be pled

no more muscles turning heads

no pink tongues, nor red

there he goes

she's dead.