The radio still burns,
you’re messed-up, high and in love with everything
and that’s what I bring.
And now you’re making it worse,
in a mixed-up world I can hear the chimes in spring and
that’s when all the rain begins.
We parked up by the pier,
count one-two-three climbing a ladder to the sky –
the police on the beach analyse.
You say the world just doesn’t exist
but tomorrow’s memories out in the meadow run free,
as far as the eye can see.
The radio still plays,
the mix is high but you know the blood has run cold
and that’s when all your life can unfold.
And from the mangled metal frays
blazing thoughtforms drift off in the morning blue,
I wasn’t born to lose you.