The Beard Stroke

Chasing daydreams away from the saucer Aunts and uncles your sons and your daughters At sea for free you see The hands they cross over They're itching the surface now In isolation The ice makes it colder And older the rust has grown And now you're airborne Candles lighting the wick and the shoulder Fast your timing and quick to be over All grass all green all seen They reckon it's coming The day and the age of yours They stroke their beards and A new inspiration is born out of energy Tastes like chicken