Nothing in my life is numbered
In my life nothing is planned
You might think you see purpose
When what you're seeing is a band
thin line like from a spider
Upon which I dance
Nothing in these days is [bad word] home to chance

In the distance Is a bridge
And on the bridge a rail
I have known a hundred women
And part of me loves to fail
But then again I have broken
The expectations of a King
And through the mist and the armour
Too Much Of One Thing

Some rise in the morning
Their milk upon the sill
The last time I saw sunrise
It had a dream to kill
Breath low my scented lover
Bottles and vials, potions and pills
I could carve you from memory
Then carry you through these hills

Behind my back is a curtain
In my eyes there is love
Two sides to this story
The great divide makes it tough
There are those that despise me
Lead me round on a ring
But I've always been a target
Too Much Of One Thing

When I rise in the morning
It's as if I've walked a hundred miles
What I once did so easy [bad word] in a hundred styles
Hundred styles in a magazine
The same summer to spring
What I need is persistence
Too Much Of One Thing