You'd hold on to nothing

If it fit in your hands

Pockets and bags just won't understand

The common disorder of heads on the rise

Don't smell with the nose or see with the eyes

I am just waiting for something to happen

And all sense is lost

You'd callous the body

To make you a man

Harder to touch but that was the plan

Will you behold a revolution with style

You'd swap your hands for a new set of teeth

The chatter goes well and it's well preserved

The grass remains green if it's left undisturbed