The stroy deserts himself
In a desert of sands
And the stroy defines himself
And the stroy, still he stands,
Takes his hands
And his feet
And he kneels on his heels
And he sees he's a stroy
In a desert of sands
And he cries
And he sighs
And he understands
He has been stranded
By self
In a sanded
Desert of sands
He looks at his hands
And he sings a love song to hatred