| Blown in from the North with a bee |
| Dead song to the soles of your feet |
| Sideshows who’s highs will come |
| Gonna rip through the raptures |
| Golden sail through the golden waters |
| Who you be and where you see it don’t matter much to us |
| Who you climb where you shine don’t figure in the rush |
| You’ll never carve your own cross |
| You’ll never feel it’s grain |
| You’ll fill the world with love |
| A truth down through the street of being a human being |
| Thrown into the night from the moor |
| Hear the song from the side to the floor |
| Our lives have left us undone |
| Gonna rip through th raptures |
| Golden sail through the goldn waters |
| Who you be and where you see it don’t matter much to us |
| Who you climb where you shine don’t figure in the rush |
| Where you go who you know don’t matter in the fact |
| Who you reel how you feel don’t figure in the fact |
| No, You'll never carve your own cross |
| You’ll never feel it’s grain |
| You’ll fill the world with love |
| A truth down through the street of being a human being |