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Randomly the radio that wanders through the stations like a train |
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Flickers on the dashboard as the melody dissolves into his brain |
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Hovering the kestral over chequered fields suspended in the air |
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Settles on a movement and swoops down to find this time, there's nothing there |
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And all who hear him say you must further gone then they |
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And all who hear him say he must be mad to be himself around today |
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All my final children will be sticky little mushrooms in a field |
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Harvesting your future just by sitting there whatever will it yield |
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And all who hear him say you must be further gone then they |
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And all who hear him say he must be mad to be himself around today |
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Around today |
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Around today |
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Around today |
