Up in the midlands with a malfunctioning heater
And a pair of wet socks that refused to dry
I summoned all of my guts to make a call that would greet her
See if she would connect her voice, would dance with mine
But she plays hard
They said 'look, here ain't a town given kindly to strangers
With Smiths tribute bands, sad closed malls and stale pies
You've got stains on the couch and your cracks in the ceiling
Go on, call reverse charge, put out that burning pride
Because she's on fire'
I smell smoke, Dorothy,
The moon is high over the sea
Scarecrows and tinmen and lions and your shoes
Go on, tap them together, resolder this fuse
Oh, wake up, my burnig bride
You're on fire, you won't help me put it out
You send me out walking and demand for the moon
I grab my butterfly net not a moment too soon.
Hey!
