Long you live and high you fly
but only if you ride the tide
balanced on the biggest wave
you missed the starting gun
you run and you run to catch up with the sun but it's sinking
half a page of scribbled lines
hanging on in quiet desperation
no surprise that they're giving none away
us and them, up and down
with, without
the paper holds their folded faces to the floor
and if the dam breaks open many years too soon
and if there is no room upon the hill
and if your head explodes with dark forebodings too
I'll see you on the dark side of the moon
// Durbtrade