From the recording Songs from Fiction Pt 1 EP


Well, I was washed up, buried in the sand
She had a haircut, she feinted at madness
You had been made-up, by the undertaker’s hand
It brought my food up, it was more than I could stand
Oh god, how could I stand and stare, in your defence, you didn’t seem to care at all

That we were looking down at you with great pity and sorrow
Holding back the urge to let fly with our arrows
Unlike god up above who strikes balance by the tearing of our hearts
We must go now, we must depart, these clothes will get us to the runways
To the strip-joints, a string of seedy bars, why won’t they tell us the next flight out
We won’t have time to stall at the start, no more

Papers and passports, cheques and red-letters
Dog-eared and crumpled by our socks and bandannas
Money falls like rain through the cracks in the ceiling
Waiting for small fingers to unravel the knots in our hearts

Driving with tongues on the freeways
Falling through ice on the byways
Chased down by thugs on a dead-end street
Never imagined it would end like this
Try not to falter or fall asleep
Begging for wisdom from a weary priest