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.
