The ring in the air
Driving you spare
Is a broken loom
It’s a windowless showroom
–
Keep your nose to the ground
Like an old bassett hound
Sabre tail in your wake
–
Pulses make fleet
Through the cracks in the concrete
How will they land?
Well that’s up to the stagehand
–
But the night here it burns like acid rain
We make our mark in our arches and grottoes
Keeping an eye on the scene and the edge of it keen
We can figure the keepers and let-gos
–
Keep your nose to the ground
Like an old bassett hound
Pack spread out in your wake
–
On the street there’s a hush
As we wait for the goldrush
The first glint in the gutters
Is a set of bolt-cutters
–
But the night here it burns like acid rain
We make our mark in our arches and grottoes
Keeping an eye on the scene and the edge of it keen
We can figure the keepers and let-gos