| It’s just the radio darling
|
| Just the radio and your runaway imagination
|
| Just the radio darling
|
| We can turn away to another station
|
| It came from nowhere
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| On the 38 Geary
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| A girl with a backpack of shrapnel and wire
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| Through spiderweb windows
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| Of blood stained glass
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| A pagoda’s shadow and a cruel sunny sky
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| Oh the flash then the silence
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| Shouldn’t there be screaming praying crying
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| Oh anything at all
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| Tell me where are the sirens
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| Fire’s getting closer but I’ve got to stay calm
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| It’s just the radio darling
|
| Just the radio and your runaway imagination
|
| Just the radio darling
|
| We can turn away to another station
|
| Outside they’re handing out
|
| Fate to the wounded
|
| Little tags in black red yellow, and green
|
| It’s now my twenty-fith hour
|
| With a scalpel in hand
|
| If I stop moving I will sleep on my feet
|
| And the rumors are seething
|
| Gunfire at freeway exits, bridges mid-barricades
|
| I can feel the fog creeping
|
| God where is the morphine, the sweet lidocaine
|
| It’s just the radio
|
| Sing me a love song dear
|
| What good has the news ever done me
|
| Come on it’ll never happen here, oh no
|
| We are not some third world country
|
| This is not some third world country
|
| I’m sorry Mama
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| I held on for as long as I could
|
| I’m sorry Papa
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| There was nothing more I could do
|
| It’s just the radio |