there is fire in the skies
there is no lies in her eyes

there is no lies as yours look into hers
a soul stirs a well of hope

father tries to cope
with back disease
and he slowly faded beneath
with a broken heart disease
as a matter of fact underneath the lunar eclipse

there was no fright to write prose
maybe the words would come naturally like they never did
and you kept the kid hid
you undid your shoe lace

and when caspian played
dead to all dreams underneath
the disease to brain seethe
teasing piper
this new prose sound anyone like this new fatboy sound

all the way down the hill
and the prose sounded like a gentle why do we like it as it is humming