The leaves in the garden rustle as I’m hunting the snails
as we move, we both know our show will be better than anything inside.

Inside I can hear the hustle and bustle getting ready, taking seats
the beat begins and I know I’ve lost them all.

The man with the magic fingers drops another bomb in my head
too small and tired to see around the strings.

The giant cookies are just a small part of the night
starting with me in my own little world.