| And I’ve been getting urges late at night
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| To walk and walk for days and throughout lights
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| Through people’s houses, picking food from plates
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| Through people’s gardens, picking locks on gates
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| So we are moving to a lighthouse, you and I
|
| While seas drown sailors, we’ll be locked up safe and dry
|
| And though our doors may knock and rattle in the wind
|
| I’ll just hold you tight and we’ll not let those fuckers in
|
| And I’ve been leaving gifts out in the woods
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| That someone might stumble upon and wonder at their origins
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| I’ve been feeling like a fox with sad old eyes
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| Whose skulk has all moved on to leave the dark and empty den behind
|
| So we are moving to a lighthouse, you and I
|
| While seas drown sailors, we’ll be locked up safe and dry
|
| And though our doors may knock and rattle in the wind
|
| I’ll just hold you tight and we’ll not let those fuckers in
|
| I’ll anull these little walls of attrition and these invocations
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| That’s seen me holding my camera out at arms length
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| To self-document these new locations
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| When I should be leaning against you
|
| Deciding on things to get done
|
| And you should be leaning on fountains
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| And filling my space up and breathing the air from my lungs
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| Na na na na
|
| So we are moving to a lighthouse, you and I
|
| While seas drown sailors, we’ll be locked up safe and dry
|
| And we are moving to a lighthouse, you and I
|
| Our beams will burn the clouds to beacons in the sky
|
| And though our doors may knock and rattle in the wind
|
| The wind…
|
| I’ll just hold you tight and we’ll not let those fuckers in |