Ian Anderson

Pick up my wings and fly into a constable sky
Look down on the world and try to make you out
On the distant ground Lonely toy in a lost toy town
Suspended in spiral sounds, sounds of circular breathing
I'm a kite on a silver thread, daring lightning to strike me dead
Harsh echoes of things you said banished me to a thinner space
With unholy ghosts of your bedroom face
Hands cupped to my ears to place the sound of circular breathing
Matchbox cityscape below
I watch Lowry matchstick figures go
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence
Matchbox cityscape below
I watch Lowry matchstick figures go
Caught in the timeless flow of discreet silence
Pick up my wings and fly into a constable sky
Look down on the world and try to make you out
On the distant ground Lonely toy in a lost toy town
Suspended in spiral sounds, sounds of circular breathing