You'd Hold On To Nothing



If It Fit In Your Hands



Pockets And Bags Just Won't Understand



The Common Disorder Of Heads On The Rise



Don't Smell With The Nose Or See With The Eyes



I Am Just Waiting For Something To Happen



And All Sense Is Lost



You'd Callous The Body



To Make You A Man



Harder To Touch But That Was The Plan



Will You Behold A Revolution With Style



You'd Swap Your Hands For A New Set Of Teeth



The Chatter Goes Well And It's Well Preserved



The Grass Remains Green If It's Left Undisturbed