Legs so short
They don’t touch the ground
Waiting for the bus
And listening to the sound

Of kissing your soul
Star shaped
And soppy wet
As if my heart melt
Yes I felt


These plastic telephones
Bad reception on a good day
And I’m in a major city what the hell

Singin down a tin can, with a string thru a hole

I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul


How long will it take
And how many lips will I have to kiss to get to you?
What will be the calendar month?
Mark it in for me
I’m here on satellite, way below

Waiting on your call
All illuminated and lonely
If my soul had a colour
What would it be?


Singin down a tin can, with a string thru a hole

I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul



She kicked that can
It hit me in the head
It left a mark, spared me death
I ran out of breath
And for a minute there was quiet

Then the bus came
And off she went
I pulled out my worn out itinerary
That had the answers to everything

Then I sang down a tin can, with a string thru a hole

I want to kiss your soul
I want to kiss your soul