Andy Latham - Funeral for a Foursome

When my fever broke I slipped outside
Distant rising smoke, a new place to hide
In the checkout line with my next best friend
Shiver down my spine upon your echo's end
She screams down the wires on the telephone
The last landline on the city's scope
Where's the open air between our minds
If it's in our care, we can cut the twine
Another bounce of the bass
I think we're running outta space
Silver tape out of time
Yer made of gold, nevermind
No-one's whispering, but the body speaks
There is silence from the lost antique
All my friends were there, at the final show
What a slow affair, you had me at hello
Another bounce of the bass
I think we're running outta space
Silver tape out of time
Yer made of gold, nevermind
Another bounce of the bass
I think we're running outta space
Silver tape out of time
Yer made of gold, nevermind

Written by:
Andrew Latham

Publisher:
Lyrics © O/B/O DistroKid

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