An uncanny sweetness seeps in through
A black speaker into me and you,
Chasing the dust out of the things we wear

We walked out of the dusk into the light
Of the promenade, side by side
Throwing stones into a fading day

WE ARE SORTED OUT,
IT MAKES ME ILL
I WANT TO BURN, I WANT TO FEEL
THERE IS SOMEWHERE TO GET TO,
SOMETHING TO HAVE

There is a curious glow that radiates calm
It's in the waves, it's in the dawn
It's in the cars crushed into squares of scrap

Finding shy creatures under the stones
It's all part of the place called home
Can this be true, can such things be?

WE ARE SORTED OUT,
IT MAKES ME ILL
I WANT TO BURN, I WANT TO FEEL
THERE IS SOMEWHERE TO GET TO,
SOMETHING TO HAVE

THERE WERE LOVED ONES,
MACHINES THAT CLICK
THE END IS BITTER AND NOT AT ALL QUICK
THERE IS NOWHERE TO GET TO,
NOTHING TO HAVE