Such distance to the tips of the fingers,

the ganglion loom jerks inside;

the body grows steadily stranger

but the spirit won't be denied.



That sharp halogen flash jars the eyeball,

the limbs pump in overdrive;

the body grows seemingly weaker

but the spirit won't be denied.



Yeah, the ash-mark stands out on the forehead

as the vacuum sneaks up on the eyes;

the body becomes a constant traitor

but the spirit won't be denied.



And they call that living a normal live,

but normality's not standardised.

Though the body gets ever more root-bound

the spirit won't be denied



Yes, the spirit survives