I keep a body attached to my name,
but really, to me, that's all the same
I was offered that wild vicious name with some fame
Now I hang in the balance, deep in the game

>but hey and hi hoe
I've got nothing to show,
”do nothing at all”,
that's my duty call<

Body's stooping through Name's vile circumstance,
Name rocking and rolling its identity dance
and I'm a dedicated biker, so don't call me Lance,
step aside, best move on if I make an advance

Name's running out of places to be,
Body's searching for spaces, from mountain to sea
All I hear from myself is sarcasms and glee,
think I'll change my name to Old Henry Lee

>but hey and hi hoe
I've got nothing to show,
”do nothing at all”,
that's my duty call<

Body's moving on downwind as fast as it can
If I still drove a car, I'd get myself a van,
but my climate conscience won't lift its ban,
which explains, if you saw me, I probably ran

Dylan once wrote a song called The Hurricane,
a good storytel song, even if not his main
No one could keep Dylan under his rein
Any fool trying that is fooling in vain

>but hey and hi hoe
I've got nothing to show,
”do nothing at all”,
that's my duty call<

Now I'm lagging behind in my Crazy Wolf attire,
hearing my name called out in a sordid mixed choir
From handle to break runs a Shimanistic wire,
I sigh like the wind, they call me The Sigher

Name's rolled up in dreamless sleep,
Body's down in unconscious mud, sinking deep
If I was The Reaper I'd make sure to reap
but at the edge of the world everything's too steep

>but hey and hi hoe
I've got nothing to show,
”do nothing at all”,
that's my duty call<

I rise and I fall like Flingel Bunt
This here existence ain't no easy stunt
All I seem to think of is a good humid cunt
and a covenant with Jahve gone obsolete, to put it blunt