Basil, basil, pop goes the weasle. There's a million stories, but only one glory. To far to reach it, but I keep on reaching. One day I had it, but it left for a reason.
Running through a field on the fourth of July.
Look across the street, staring at the sea. Notice all the eyes that be upon me. Climbing like a lumber-jack. Should of known, she'd be back. Soon there'll be a time, to lift away my spirit. So far away, I can't even hear it.
(So far away)
Running through a field on the fourth of July.
Check it, elect it, then you must accept it.
Find it, bind it, the you must remind it.
Steal it, feel it, then you must reveil it.
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