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
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.

Lyrics by Davyd Homan