You're a wretched angel with a silent temper
Indian Summer field of colors spinning like a record
Cast off your melancholy clothes
Taste the sunshine while you can
Dissolve into a careless pose
A million roads that lead nowhere
Ring the alarm!
Sound a truce!
For we haven't even been introduced
I'm a copper wire twisted 'round a seashell
Useless and uncommon, kept beside an inkwell
A conversation that is trapped
Inside a clockwork figurine
A love completely off the map
Made of smoke and gasoline
Ring the alarm!
Sound a truce!
For we haven't even been introduced