i heard the song birds singing in the trees above my bed in the valley of the shadow of the sea of living dead i see the same old smells aboard my ship of shapelessness meandering suspended in amorphous tastelessness i hear the happy people striking down their matchless road the false teeth and the cologne partly sharing half the load i know i cannot ask them so i leave their eyes to say i know the way to mount street but i just don t know the way i see the hollow buildings hanging in the winter sun throwing empty shadows that hide the hollow men the world just isn t real it s built on endless timeless time on land marks in the desert wastes of multicoloured crime the maps stuck in the tube trains will tell you where re you going they ll also tell you pratically everything worth knowing so if anybody asks me i d say take a few salt sodas if you don t you stand the dirty chance of dying stone cold sober and as i hear you breathing life s last distant compliment i know i can t have said much of what i really ment the sky desolates the sky and the snowflakes face to face and everything is just everything because everything just is
['art rock', 'british folk', 'folk', 'folk rock', 'psychedelic folk']