I come to you all dressed in sound,
with bluebirds tripping wires to the ground,
connected to a time machine that will not power down.
Set the crosshairs back on one,
you said we'd only die here in a sun.
The way your headstone shines,
I only wish that it was mine.
So set the crosshairs back on one,
I nail the loop that brings the second run,
past the wished on charms
and through the lens back to your living arms.
This time machine won't power down.
And this time machine won't power down.
And still the crosshairs rest on one,
and still you rest there in the morning sun.
Still I fumble through pages of constructions on the ride.
I like the blown out sound we've found,
I like the way it feels here coming down.
The way your headstone shines, I only wish that it was mine.
