We're only mouths to feed, with hearts like tin canteens, in the end it's our disease that keeps us true.
But Adam and his girl and the beech tree by the school yard bend, the race to win; will you begin?
Tantamount to sin are the pleasures of the skin
and death-defying lines all seem to blend
into the magic words you swear you've never heard
from the lady in the garden with a grin.