Lyrics:

My little boy on the kitchen floor.
(my little Basquiat)
Stick men fighting stick dinosaurs.
(my little Basquiat)
Colours leaping all over the mat.
(my little Basquiat)
The kitchen floor is where it’s at
for my little Basquiat.

One day
he’ll be golden,
maybe chosen,
perhaps to lead.
One day
he’ll be shaken,
maybe taken,
perhaps to bleed.

My big girl swinging from the bars.
(my little Comanice)
Fist of stone flying above the yard.
(my little Comaniche)
Halfway up is halfway down
(my little Comaniche)
or maybe it’s the other way around
for my little Comaniche.

One day
she’ll be moonlight,
maybe too bright,
perhaps, to shine.
One day
she’ll be found out,
maybe ground down,
perhaps she’ll cry.

My little girl on her mothers lap.
(my little Panchen Lama)
Sucking on her fingers, surveying the roadmap.
(my little Panchen Lama)
Seems to be the only one around
(my little Panchen Lama)
that sees the red lights at the end of town.
(my little panchen lama)

One day
they’ll be older,
maybe bolder,
perhaps, than me.
One day
they’ll be rising,
maybe living,
perhaps, in peace.