O Heathcote

I can understand, I can understand why people talk with reverence
'bout the changing of the seasons, 'bout the bluing of the light that brings
such melancholy
I can understand, I can understand why poets do mythologise
'bout the browning of the land and the hardening on the back of your hand
We were conceived in the back of a car
Brought up in a bar, educated by TV
I’ve got my PhD
Dee dee dee dee, dee dee dee dee dee dee dee
And now we crave all the comforts and accessories available
And complain about our backs and how it is impossible to relax
We walk the dog and sadly we consider how everything’s been ruined
And moan about the youth while our arbitrary opinions become absolute truth
We were controlled by an invisible hand
The fat of the land made us softer than the sea
I shall kiss you on your knee
Hee hee hee hee, hee hee hee hee hee hee hee
And in September I contemplate surrender
Just dwell upon my odour and pour another soda
In spite of Palestine