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.

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