One, two, three, four, five.
I've got a spirit
Made out of sand
Sometimes it slips through my fingers
Back onto the beach
In some kind of lust
To return to the violence of the ocean floor
So I kneel down
And gather it up
Grain by grain
I have to keep it safe
I still have some things to say:
You should have been a writer, you should have played guitar,
But those kids keep coming down the fucking hill
You should have been a writer, you should have played guitar,
But your face looks like a statue in the dark
Like a candle that is held up to a mirror
Or the terrible glimpse of a shark
Within your idiot heart
I heard you hate it all just based on your principles now
So I kneel down
Down into your burning sand, singing
One, we got the spirit, two, we got the music
Three, we got the past and four, we got the future
And five, we got some kind of lust
To return to the violence of the ocean floor