Randomly the radio that wanders through the stations like a train
Flickers on the dashboard as the melody dissolves into his brain

Hovering the kestrel over chequered fields suspended in the air
Settles on a movement and swoops down to find this time, there's nothing there

And all who hear him say you must further gone than they
And all who hear him say he must be mad to be himself around today

All my final children will be sticky little mushrooms in a field
Harvesting your future just by sitting there whatever will it yield

And all who hear him say you must be further gone than they
And all who hear him say he must be mad to be himself around today
Around today
Around today
Around today