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Shakhan
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Worship at our temple
Mark has rattled that little bone in my head blowing strong
she's right on sweet NZ
runnning around getting our stuff together.
Single wing that flies with out a single feather.
Meeting a the paddock like perfect
no drugs in me but I feel like an addict.
Patchers of rock that are sticking out like mange
no scabe dog shes the beautiflly Paeroa range.
Deer and boar they have a home on her true
her top scapes then it just cuts into the blue.
Also looks like a giant pushed dirt over a grave
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not sure if I'm fool hearty or brave.
Dust is spiralling from the car like a vapour trail
soon so quiet slip throught the air under a sail.
At take off there is always a saftey check
who wants to break and then spiral into the deck.
Standing there I feel the glory of a thermal.
We have come to worship at our temple.
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