Lightening strikes,
The tribe falls below,
Another stormy desert chase,
Fallen on sodden ground,
Chasing the wondering furnace of fame,
Forgetting the isle of pleasure and stay,

I've found nothing new,
Inside this glass Iota,
Forming thoughts of you,
I fall beneath the timed delight,
Of evening cheers and truthful glares
Of treasures O' so bright


Leave me there,
I'll find a way,
To move and twitch again,
Chasing movement ever near,
Till we meet again