Ward off the cold’s day virus with the warmth of my will

Give me a Texas death sentence for everyone that it kills

Keep my motives locked up in the frailness of the chase

Chase the sacred moments that I keep at a thoroughbred’s pace

Trace the steps of synchronization like a bowling pin on the swivel

Cross my game over, like it’s luck, with every ankle breaking dribble

Keep letting the dibble dabble of life freeze you up for some time

Time your smiles, time your weeps, time every time that you rhyme

For me, the grind is the journey – the pain is stones that I step

Stepped, frogging leaps in the rhythm – patterned in the tears that are wept

I cry a smile on my face in tune with tomorrow’s potential

Because the band will play on and hope is just too damn instrumental.

Written August 2002 in Townsville, Queensland