"More and more and more she said On a
flat-back Tuesday in the wintertime When you
were ten miles gone and flying high Not
minding you could not even see the
ground
Dropshot and deep-six of a little
king Oh your mind blank now with the turn of
her back On everything you too quickly gave up
too soon To be salvaged but it's
alright
It's the same old thing It's
the old familiar rythm Of your hollow
heart
So hasty heart hangs now on every
word and motion Thought and action rolling
from her hands Saying what she said and what
she did really matters In the simple fact that
I am nothing more than an Open-hearted,
heavy-handed dreamer of a man Who wanted not
much today-not ever Wanted not much ever but
just enough to get by awhile And feel a little
bit more than alright
It's the same old
thing It's the old familiar rythm Of your
hollow heart"
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