International Waters - Desperate Journalist

I found him crying on the billboard in Los Angeles

The Searchers ran right through him on the dead leaves

Arranging flowers, oh a moveable typeface

Bought agrarian and escaped the space race

Sentimental brother falling slowly

Black the raging sea and the death that owns me

Paralysed 8 millimetre show me

How my tiny boards can get this lonely

Off the coast of Ireland, what’s the point in borders

Scramble all the signals and disconnect the callers

Because miracles they don’t happen here

He played the futures in a silent demonstration

Collecting figures in studied isolation

A box of photographs a sail and a letter

Exhibited after he’d conquered the weather

Squaring circles, oh my paramour a forcefield

Romance from Grönigen, a theory and a bent keel

Elemental drifting culmination

A life defined as a rusted numbers station

Off the coast of Ireland, what’s the point in borders

Scramble all the signals and disconnect the callers

Because miracles they don’t happen here

Falling over Niagara Falls

Do you think he’s really seen it all

Off the coast of Ireland, what’s the point in borders

Scramble all the signals and disconnect the callers

Because miracles, they don’t happen here

In these international waters