Just like comfortable life is lived with peers and feather,
I’m slightly off-tune, slightly out of ‘together‘. In the background (amongst the crackles and pops) I hear the distant voices behind distant clocks.
I run into you on the station untuned, where in the background voices echo like fumes.
Blame me on a station static,
Your connection is down, your life in the attic.
The radio, like a wave of life, you’ve been born into power, but the tuning’s not right.
Voices stream through white noise but the words make no sense,
Like a shiny gold dollar when your currency’s pence.
I don’t know what to call it, or what to call you, but we’re on the same wavelength, off the tuning by two.
I’m slightly off-tune, slightly out of ‘together‘. In the background (amongst the crackles and pops) I hear the distant voices behind distant clocks.
I run into you on the station untuned, where in the background voices echo like fumes.
Blame me on a station static,
Your connection is down, your life in the attic.
The radio, like a wave of life, you’ve been born into power, but the tuning’s not right.
Voices stream through white noise but the words make no sense,
Like a shiny gold dollar when your currency’s pence.
I don’t know what to call it, or what to call you, but we’re on the same wavelength, off the tuning by two.
