Bash my ego like it doesn't hurt. Across a court, for all it's worth. And these words... They mean nothing But I'm not upset. And this mind... It's forgotten How to forget. You've got your racket, and I've got my net. And I'll ricochet; respond Every now and then. But usually I'll let it go over; roll under Perhaps watch it go out, but say it's in. Whichever direction seems Appropriate at the time. We know you always have your defense And sometimes I'll have my mine. Depends on if it's busy Fighting something else... If it's there when I go to retrieve it From it's gravity-worn shelf. And the truth about gravity Is that it's gotten the best of me. Perpetually dragging me down Every time I try to leave the ground. You get the trophy, okay? It's yours, you own it. The only thing worse than gravity Is having you as my opponent.