Из альбома: The Golden Age of Wireless
Strange how the scale forms
in tiny patterns
on my antenna
and the Five O'clock Show, hello hello...
Brooklyn is crawling with famous people
I turn my vehicle beneath the river, West from South
Through the airwaves -
people never read the airwaves
do we only feed the airwaves
or stamp them out of street level?
Airwaves - the dampness of the wind
the airwaves - the tension of the skin
the airwaves I really should have seen through the airwaves
Electric fences line our new freeway
here in the half-light, the motorhomes leave
knee-deep in water under a pylon
how slow my heartbeat, how thin the air I'm breathing in
Control has enabled the abandoned wires again
but the copper cables all rust in the acid rain
that flood the subway
with elements of our corrosion
cabled in to me...
Be in my broadcast when this is over
give me your shoulder, I need a place
to wait for morning.
No it was nothing - some car backfiring -
pleased don't ask questions
I itch all over
let me sleep.