one two three four five i ve got a spirit made out of sand sometimes it slips through my fingers back onto the beach in some kind of lust to return to the violence of the ocean floor so i kneel down and gather it up grain by grain i have to keep it safe i still have some things to say you should have been a writer you should have played guitar but those kids keep coming down the fucking hill you should have been a writer you should have played guitar but your face looks like a statue in the dark like a candle that is held up to a mirror or the terrible glimpse of a shark within your idiot heart i heard you hate it all just based on your principles now so i kneel down down into your burning sand singing one we got the spirit two we got the music three we got the past and four we got the future and five we got some kind of lust to return to the violence of the ocean floor