Cracks in the ground and nobody gets high
Sleeping with your troubles, its the way lovers lie
Pad, locked my heart so I’m docked at quay side
Wondering if my Indian summer’s with the crop of Teesside
Is it called falling in love if your choice reveals pride
If I’m not proud what am I?
My understanding is an overseer
Is it over, here?
Gut instincts are what I over hear
Cracks in the ground like woven tears
Colourful dreams become monochrome pastures
Moth bitten messages of hope become wounds
Fears like unexploded mines in a crowded room become the music
Shall we dance?
Around subjects like Maypoles we can find new steps
If one foot is out of time and breath, should we stop?
Cracks in the ground for toe stubs and back rubs
The harvest is silence and shoulder shrugs
What are we lying for if they only bed bugs?
A good operating system can be its own anti virus
If the foundations are of stone and papyrus, why aren’t we purple or violet?
All these reports are defiling, weakness is defining, it’s blinding.
Give a partially sighted man a diamond, he’ll still find a way to refine it.
It takes more than shine to find the reason behind the rhyme.
We play uno until that card’s declined
We’ve got to give a joint account of cracks in the ground
If nobody’s getting high where can the fire be found?
Are we blowing smoke just to keep the peace?
Have we had a stroke?
What’s the canvas?
Have we a golden fleece to reflect a value increase?
Is one eye blinkered?
Is transition to a vision that isn’t rose tinted hindering?
Can you hear a storm tinkling,
Will you look it in the eye and wink at it
Is there really joy to be found?
Did you know there’s cracks in the ground?
Ignore them for the sake of the grace in which we are found
If nothing ever changes, potentially we’ll drown
All because we never listened for the cracks in the ground.