"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"