Lyrics

To shade itself from passing rays To gauge a sense of perfect phase To stretch a point The depths of which were lost The strand The frame The reverence The scans The waiting precedence The speech The form The roads I may have lost Marked out in hi-vis To stay blended in Strain on your iris And two thirds of skin Kindly distracts From the points that were made It's vital these stacks of the forms be mislaid (My mistake)