We are late like a midnight train that's running nowhere nWe are sticks we are stones we are broken bones we are hot air nWe are under the guillotine trying to fix our hair nnThere's computers clicking binary genius into the night nThere are formulas, remedies, reasons, there is hindsight nThere's the smell of artillery, There's the sky alight nnWe are bedrock we're undergound we are sharp as the rain nWe are gathering pace we are thunder wrapped in cellophane nWe are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same nnThere's a motorway service station on a January day nThere's a lunchtime radio show there's the shit that they play nThere's the percussion of buttons and keys in a cybercafe nnWe are some distant TV channel a lesson grown old nWe are rhythm and rhyme, partners in crime we are fools gold nWe are free as the wind through the trees or so we are told nnThere's some faded out manuscript paper and an old clarinet nThere is cash on the table there's a tapestry alphabet nThere's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet nThere's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet