Numanoid Hang-glide

Please don't tell me what you think while I tell you about
The copse that I retreat to where I'm hemmed in by the Larch
Where nobody can bother me and the voices in my head
Cease their Dif Juz ramblings for a while

I was best man dead in our road four years on the run
Always chose the same demise, dehydration on a long jog

Where once you wiped away my tears and cleaned my grazed knees
You hang-glide with the Numanoids and snub my rare disease
The one in which I get these silly visions in my mind
And have to write them all down for the nurse

Gazza in a Mozzer mask goofing by the pool
Eating all the Caramacs, howay cemetery gates

I said to Jesus, "How much do you love me?"
He said "This much" and he stretched out his arms and died
And I thought to myself: is that a stock reply?
Or are there exceptions for the likes of REO
Speedwagon
Speedwagon

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