patch the holes and fluid leaks,

at dusk, beneath a diabetic moon,

and wait to take the tv crews

across the creaking ice, the news

is howling to the timber wolves, and soon

I'll go through it all again,

and watch their doubtful smiles begin,

but the visions that I see believe in me.



So praise the things I can't forget 

with burgers, and a silhouette

on t-shirts at the council general store.

I'll listen to the south wind sigh

with rumours and regrets and I

don't want to talk about it anymore.

Won't go through it all again,

watch the doubtful smiles begin,

when the visions that I see believe in me.

Oh the visions that I see, they will believe me.