|
Hang to the telephone wires |
|
That follow me through the land |
|
The rails i recognise in my hands |
|
I draw black dots in my palms |
|
Give them names and discover |
|
A brand new world |
|
But no matter where i go no matter |
|
I still catch myself |
|
In me i can't invent a new landscape |
|
I have trains advancing through my veins |
|
I build stations and playgrounds for my mind to wader around |
|
The nicotine and games i invent all over again |
|
But no matter i go i catch myself |
|
'Cos i 'm tired of looking out |
|
So i'll hide in my world |
|
All soft with words |
|
Frontiers lost |
|
In my things, in my eyes |
|
In the touch i'll never find |
|
'Cos no matter where i go i reach myself |
|
'Cos i'm inside out |
|
Tripping over my voice |
|
Lost in my noise |
|
Tangled in my hair |
|
But no matter |
|
I still find myself |
