There's a rare aroma If you think you've got the nose So High and subtle To not many exposed It's the fragrance Released by grass Just before it gets mowed Washed with notes of Acceptance and Terror It knows it part You might suppose.
Stacking up bricks Taking em down Not having the nerve To apply mortar To make em sound Never even Mixed any Cos it would harden While on the ground Stacking up bricks Taking em down.
They'll go to the depths Of your brain When you are Day dreaming Drag up the thoughts there Push em into the light that pours through Your east facing big soulful windows To be read By them who have sight.