He can hear the crack of a whip,
He can hear the snap of a twig,
Jacques, in the settling track, of the mezzanine crack, on the Vaseline pack,
So he left the impression of his fingers, in the soft mud,
Jacques, in the settling track, of the mezzanine crack, on the Vaseline pack,
He feels like a foreigner,
He feels like a sailor in the dark,
A sailor in the dark,
He can smell the scent in your hair,
He can smell your perfume in the air,
Jacques, in the settling black, no he doesn’t look back, just follows the track,
So his stuck in the presence of the glooming paralyzed mud,
Jacques, in the settling black, no he doesn’t look back, just follows the track,
He feels like a foreigner,
He feels like a sailor in the dark,
A sailor in the dark