The boy that shot the bullet decked in yellow gold pulled out of the river angel’s hair for rope tried and sold on this edited tale the sound that’s in sea shells all of it saved in takes broadened walls behind the spies all the strangers battle cries are back to front wrong to right nothing cradles you through all your crimes you should be calling time and bursting bubbles but after all this time you couldn’t care less hangs on a wire inside her lives in golden grass longer laughs let down your hair a blessed curse can’t be worse i’ll wear it well my golden [bad word] all in stride it’s all [bad word] you all these steps are back to front wrong to right nothing cradles you all this time you should’ve called…. you should be calling time and bursting bubbles if after all this time you couldn’t care less.