Fearful and angry, he drives his huge car
And buys mountains of packages, sorted by size
He turns to vent fury at the person behind
Then cranes to look upwards into Crystal's blue eyes.

He shrugs off the feeling, his teflon's at work
But the edifice shakes despite steroidal thighs
He struts to his car but trips as he looks back
That innocent smile and those blue crystal eyes.

There's a shake of the head - 'I have nothing to learn
I can phone her indoors, she will sure sympathise.'
Fate or coincidence? His mobile won't work
'Use mine!' Crystal cries. He's flustered, he sighs

He dials his home number, but the phone plays the fool
'It's the damn speaking clock.' And a chance to be wise?
On the third stroke it's noon - There's no shadow to see
On the grit in his soul two small gems crystallise