Please don't tell me what you think while I tell you about
The copse that I retreat to where I'm hemmed in by the Larch
Where nobody can bother me and the voices in my head
Cease their Dif Juz ramblings for a while

I was best man dead in our road four years on the run
Always chose the same demise, dehydration on a long jog

Where once you wiped away my tears and cleaned my grazed knees
You hang-glide with the Numanoids and snub my rare disease
The one in which I get these silly visions in my mind
And have to write them all down for the nurse

Gazza in a Mozzer mask goofing by the pool
Eating all the Caramacs, howay cemetery gates

I said to Jesus, "How much do you love me?"
He said "This much" and he stretched out his arms and died
And I thought to myself: is that a stock reply?
Or are there exceptions for the likes of REO
Speedwagon
Speedwagon

La la la la la la la la la la
La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la