One! Two! Three! Four!nOne! Two! Three! Four!nnAny more tears for the birthing pool?nBear this child directly into miserynKiss him in the face with no lips and no tonguenBut with your little, middle, index and ring fingersnSinging 'I see songs in shapes and coloursnNot nuclear physics or pottery ovensnFluid lines that soar like towersnPatterns reformed just like child actorsnnPlunge your hand, rip out my spinenReplace it with a UV lightnSo I can be the beacon of hope that you'd always expectednnThese constant broken heartbeats sound like breakbeatsnLooping round and round to menYou know he's so much more like Spiderman than you will ever, ever bennSo stick with your instincts nStick with the imprintsnWith the hieroglyphics that the fan club sent usnAnd roll with the toppersnThe slow steady choppersnBat with your eyelidsnAnd lose it with your stutternGo b-b-b-b-b-b-b-b - honeeeeey!nI'm taking far too many chancesnOn these less than idealistic romancesnnPlunge your hand, rip out my spinenReplace it with a UV lightnSo I can be the beacon of hope that you'd always expectednnThese constant broken heartbeats sound like breakbeatsnLooping round and round to menYou know he's so much more like Spiderman than you will ever, ever be.