So high above me
I'm so low
I stopped time for him once
He doesn't even know

He lives in the mountains, now
His music, in the trees
Plucked softly by his fingers
Carried on the breeze

His hair, the sun
Eyes, the sky
He probly thinks I'm a freak
That, I can't deny

I long for him,
Like the sea longs for sand
I want to be his "tiny dancer"
Spin in his hand

And I, row, row, row, my boat
Gently down His stream
Crying, crying, crying, Because
This is but a dream

Who would have thought,
How merciless a beast we could create.
Sure,
The weapons are scary,
But **** if that ring doesn't terrify.
Who's sighing?
Who's crying?
Who's dead?
At least you can be certain,
Of what's at the bottom of a barrel.
Unfortunately,
You never know,
Who or what,
Is at the end of the telephone.