This dreamer of dreams has been weaving his schemes, has been sowing the seams of our sleeves together with fairytale fibres and fanciful flights of kaleidoscope lives coming too close to heaven. His morals are bound; intentions are sound in the cobwebbed corners of his head. But blow the dust around and something so profound emanates throughout the day in the skin that he sheds.

So sadly, yet so willingling he'll devise the distrust of a friend. Triangular thoughts leave this theif so distraught as fate deals him the joker again.

But who was to say, who would dare understand how we found a way not to be lonely. To be at the hands of loves sick and fickle plans; they're so sly, I think they're beyond me. Your so sly I think your beyond me.

Buy me a bridge and cry me a river, we'll drop our sticks downs and watch them reappear together. And I'll just in to save them, to play you a rhythm. A six-eight time tribute to how I felt this thing called happiness this boy understands when you're with him.

Progress to regress and thoughts of distress as sweet fantasies don't amount to happiness. We'll ride this double helix and I'll perform backflips behind fragile walls made of rose tinted perspex. Perplexion so great; a notion misplaced in another excuse of a song. Direction so straight to an uncertain fate, only time can negotiate where we went wrong.

So run your hands around this boy I promise we'll take on them all. The senses attack; we'll hit them right back with the fact that every feeling will fall.

But who was to say who would dare understand how we found our way not to be lonely. And to be at the hands of loves sick and fickle plans; they're so sly that I think they're beyond me. You're so sly I think you're beyond me.

How can you heal, how can you helps this boy who was never quite sure of himself. I know what I make out of gross introspections, reflecting and eternally turning your questions. And I'll try to sing about something, but I can't seem to think about anything else.