| Caught in the locked groove of this long season.
|
| These hours motions circle, still repeating.
|
| The beat moves on itself.
|
| The beat moves on itself.
|
| Every day my love.
|
| Crazy crazy days are gone
|
| When I come home
|
| And we’re finally alone.
|
| And I’m caught in your arms safe from a morning.
|
| No one walks out on the tightrope today my love.
|
| The beat moves on itself.
|
| The beat moves on itself.
|
| Every day my love.
|
| Crazy crazy days are gone
|
| When I come home.
|
| Crazy crazy days are gone
|
| When I come home.
|
| We awoke at the edge of a summer.
|
| New days began to stretch their legs
|
| And the tempo’s changing to compensate.
|
| The needle finds the groove to free us tonight.
|
| We awoke on the edge of this winter.
|
| The ice melts off and flows in like a song.
|
| The record plays but the needles old.
|
| It lets the player take control.
|
| Move the speakers how they’re told.
|
| To make us march for something more.
|
| Music is a sedative
|
| And you put out what you put in. |