| In trying to decide if I’m ungrateful or unhappy
|
| I realise I am neither just always wanting better
|
| When my devastator comes I’ll be ready
|
| oh god
|
| nothing scares me like I scare myself
|
| In floating at the point between futures and forever
|
| I feel like I’m suspended drifting with the weather
|
| when my devastator comes I’ll be ready
|
| for that
|
| I know I’ve come a long way but looking back
|
| Won’t you wash your hands of me?
|
| Let eras end and silent fireworks bloom
|
| All our cute lines
|
| Every new years party progress
|
| Said you’d rather die
|
| I would have kissed you then.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Devastator.
|
| Heartbeat.
|
| Heartbeat.
|
| Start of «Ainsley's Reprise»
|
| We grow up in these buildings
|
| of concrete and struts.
|
| We’re brutal as brutalist guests.
|
| We dream of the straight lines
|
| and nights where we won’t find
|
| a reason
|
| to dream up the rest.
|
| And we’re still waiting.
|
| So sing for these heartbreaks
|
| these breaches and beach heads
|
| these scars on a landscape of life
|
| It’s been a bad year for deaths
|
| so here’s to making the most of what’s left.
|
| My throat might be wrecked
|
| but I don’t think I’ll stop 'til I’m
|
| deaf.
|
| A ghost in your bedroom
|
| the wind on the platform
|
| had swept through these tunnels
|
| and sat with this bottle
|
| I’m starting to see why you’re so far from sober
|
| I’m starting to shake like my father.
|
| And we’re still waiting.
|
| O' patience
|
| So once as explorers
|
| and twice as just tourists
|
| just settle for a good night as proof of life
|
| so here’s to making the most of what’s left.
|
| My throat might be wrecked
|
| but I don’t think I’ll stop 'til I’m
|
| deaf.
|
| 1, 2, 3, Magic! |