| Running, jumping, pushing its way
|
| Mornings nighttime blends into day
|
| Can’t find curtains to shut it away
|
| We were alone in the hills of the night
|
| Now the neon dawn lets in the light
|
| And the milkman that nobody knows
|
| Leaves bottles of tears
|
| At the house full of laughter
|
| Nobody ever hears
|
| O the grass is burned black
|
| By the ships coming back from the stars, golden stars
|
| Seas turned to steam
|
| When we boiled the dream of tomorrow, tomorrow
|
| When it gets light
|
| Some of them always stay
|
| She’s dressed in white
|
| Till the smoke turns her grey
|
| Falling, stumbling, feeling its way
|
| Mornings nighttime moves into day
|
| Can’t find warmth to keep it away
|
| Used to be alone on the waves of cloud
|
| Now the flotsam dawn brings in the crowd
|
| And the angel who sits in her car
|
| Full of desire
|
| But the hoses who came from the town
|
| Put out her fire
|
| O the seas have run dry
|
| And the sun’s one good eye is too blind to see
|
| Sky has gone bad
|
| From the good times we had burning bright, such good times
|
| When it gets light
|
| Some of them always stay
|
| She’s dressed in white
|
| Till the smoke turns her grey |