It is the double skipped heart beat on the record player,
I repeat (repeat)
the stutter of life,
the chitter of teeth,
we're cold but the burn is so heavenly.

A fall from grace,
big wide plastic lenses
that frame the face 360 degrees
angelic, is one name for it
dweeby, another
I love the mathematician hidden in your briefcase
I like to open it up at inopportune moments
and let myself bathe in the light

You're a 'yes' man,
an optimistic optometrist,
helps me see who I want to be,
(yes man, yes, man)
Long lion's mane that plummets
and tugs on heart strings
I always was an accompaniment
to your instrumental
I long for the day that
your stiff collared ape-father
lets you palm the pulsating heart beat of
an electric guitar once more

Take the strings out of the boy
he's no longer a puppet
but the song plays on
(yes, man, harmony)