| Lyrics: | An uncanny sweetness seeps in through
A black speaker into me and you,
Chasing the
dust out of the things we wear.
We walked out of the dusk into the light
Of
the promenade, side by side.
Throwing stones into a fading day...
WE ARE
SORTED OUT,
IT MAKES ME ILL.
I WANT TO BURN, I WANT TO FEEL
THERE IS SOMEWHERE
TO GET TO,
SOMETHING TO HAVE.
There is a curious glow that radiates calm.
It's in the waves, it's in the dawn.
It's in the cars crushed into squares of scrap.
Finding shy creatures under the stones.
It's all part of the place called
home.
Can this be true, can such things be?
WE ARE SORTED OUT,
IT MAKES
ME ILL.
I WANT TO BURN, I WANT TO FEEL
THERE IS SOMEWHERE TO GET TO,
SOMETHING
TO HAVE.
THERE WERE LOVED ONES,
MACHINES THAT CLICK.
THE END IS BITTER
AND NOT AT ALL QUICK.
THERE IS NOWHERE TO GET TO,
NOTHING TO HAVE |
