Dewdrops, hanging like diamonds
from your black hair, full of sun,
ar the cul-de-sac of a forgotten road,
in any short cut that leads nowhere;
fill the space and stop time,
let's breathe with the gills that we'll have tomorrow.
Let's be methodical, let's not get confused;
a punishment is a punishment and a prize aswell.

Gime me your treatment,
it's good for my body and my mind.

You, idiot, stuck in a traffic jam,
don't pretend, I know that you're me,
you're dying of a broken heart trying to guess
sho's singing on the radio with such a sweet voice.

Adverts for cosmetic and love songs;
slow digestions and seas of illusion.

Playing marbles in the middle of the street,
don't pretend, I know that you're me.
Do you remember the tricycles that delivered ice?
... and the guitar solos in the middle of songs.

Gime me your treatment,
it's good for my body and my mind.
Gime me your treatment,
it's good for my body and my mind.

That's why I feel too good,
I enjoy stupid things, I'm not good at anything,
I get lost and I don't think logically
like I used to do
and this sweet voice sings you my love.
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