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