In the tall grass upon the dune. He rests his head on you. It's warm wind and a faded sky. You watch him drifting far away. Dreaming, drowning. Did you marry a man who married the sea?.
There was always something holding you back. Some other world that was calling. Maybe in the mountains where you stretched your arms. Without fear of falling.
They found us in the courtyard at our table in the shade. We toasted our last few moments and then the end came. They took us back to the airstrip in that beaten up old car.
Across the flatlands we came out of nowhere special. Like a peasant revolution - makeshift weapons in our hands. We crashed the gates so hard we'd never heard that kind of sound before.
So where do we begin? It must be thirty-five years . . .. You've the breath of my mother, the life of a stranger;. and there's so much to tell - so much I need to know..
One swallow never made a spring. You can buy a crown - it doesn't make you king. Beware the trinkets that we bring. . When the visionary dreams set hard and grey as flesh made into stone.
Busted out to the halfway house. At the top of Undercliffe Road. You and me and your motorbike. In the ice and drifting snow. 3 a.m. and empty, the city ours alone.
Sullivan/Heaton. Under darkening thundering towering skies. We live through these fateful days. Walking like strangers through streets of damnation. Under the enemy's gaze.
Holed up in your little room, we talk for hour on empty hour,. pacing up and down between the walls that we have built ourselves.. No more with the long goodbye, I can't stand another tear;.
(Sullivan/Heaton). The lovers they kiss and slowly they turn. For drawing a breath there is nothing but time. A thousand million years before we crash in the sun.
I went to my mother, said - please make me king. I went to my mother, said - I've got to be king. She said son - well you've got to wait your turn. Patience is a virtue that you never seemed to learn.
The lovers they kiss and slowly they turn. for drawing a breath there is nothing but time. A thousand million years before we crash in the sun. And I know we will be still here in Her arms.
The Festival is over and the strings of coloured lights. are blowing crazy in the coming wind. One bulb comes loose, shatters on the ground. The empty streets pick up the sound, it echoes like a tiny gunshot.
Turn and the world turns on, we're riding out with the dawn. All fixed up once again like a thousand times before. Beneath the blessed sun and the coming day.
It was summer when they finally came, the law of force. and line upon line of machine upon machine, back into the greenwood,. closer to the heart of things we go - beneath the wires stretched against the sky,.
Ch: We scream, you run - fall out. You scream and we're gone - falling out. There must have been times in the smoke and the beat on the dance-floor. When all of the doors, they were opening for you.
The wind blows keen across the ridge. Black against a charcoal grey. We climb up here by the winding path made so long ago. In the valley below the last few lights.
Mother, Father, I'm doing OK. On the other side of the country, far away. And though I know the things that you want to hear me say. Sometimes these things are hard.
In a nowhere bar-room on the east side of the city. There was a strange smell of burning outside in the street. I was giving a sermon like the son of a preacher.
Today seems so special like a beginning or an end. And there's so many thousand people here. After all the grey days we're shining once again. And I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world.