In that old boxcar with the pentagram where the kids all used to hide;
I left my best bracelets there for the scavengers to find.
But when I come back last May, the boxcar was cut down.
But the smooth scarred boy with ravaging eyes was still hanging around.
And it was just as I had dreamed it when we walked along those tracks;
pulling the sparks from an orphaned rainbow that turned our eyes to black
And then we said:
"The people we see as skeletons, we all know by name"
I'm at the top of a hill, receiving signals that go...
I'm going back to that place!
(And if one day you draw a microphone that makes the radio sing...)
I'll paint a portal through space!
(And cut the cherry cloth born from a string, I'll carry everything.)
Then I'll track you through the alleys and the hours on the trampoline of time.
And then I'll take:
The cannons in the park and point them, straight into your heart
Heart...heart...heart...heart...