Stitch, sew, cut, pull. [x8]

Hah, hah! [x4]

80 degrees, hemmed by reveries.
Iron out saudade and wrinkles unfold.
Off-grain fabric tells a different tale;
Tailored frequencies need to be repaired!

7 AM is when the station plays its sounds.
Listening to the speaker while the patterns pin into place.
Scissors separate the yellow from the white.

Good morning, small-town listeners!

Thimbles coat my fingers,
Feed dogs are jamming up.
The [bad word] in tangles,
I see such pretty things.

[ch.] [bad word] in different colors, I believe;
In the sewing machine I've lost myself.
Memories inside my heart are there to grieve,
Color-coded by the love he gave to me.
Ah, his voice, he speaks to me through the radio!
Pressing spotted fabric on an ironing board,
Losing bobbins under tables, is it so?
Every day it feels like seams are more then torn...

Buttoned patchwork, thread that's tied in knots,
Hand-sew everything with kind intention.
Liquid sound waves pour from my eyes,
My heart cries out to you in desperation.

7 AM is when the station plays its sounds.
Listening to the speaker while the patterns sew into place.
Unmistakeably, he'll return alive!
His colors ought to show again--

Black and white and black and white and black and white and black and white
and blue and green and yellow and red; the radio only plays in-- [x8]

Black and white and black and white and black and white and black and white
and blue and green and yellow and red; these aren't the colors I should see!

[ch.]