Fuse - Eliza Carthy

Well talk about expectation

Why don’t you meet me at the station?

And we’ll remember the first thorn pricking the skin.

Breaking the skin to get in.

I am worn, I am reduced.

I am reduced my body to my quiet bed.

Running around the things that I said whilst driving,

The songs in my head,

I am elated, I am suffused,

With my freedom and my friends.

Is it you and me against the world exclusive?

Or them against us, or us all against each other to the end?

Oh I am a burnt out fuse,

What do I have to lose except the blues.

I’m a burnt out fuse.

What do I have to lose?

I beg your pardon but I never promised you nothing.

And I suppose that was good because I never got nothing.

I beg your pardon but I never promised you a rose garden,

Or a pretty picture of health

The sky and the window is a simple wealth of colours

And anyway, we all go on.

Do they?

Do they?

Oh i am a burnt out fuse,

What do I have to lose except the blues?

I’m a burnt out fuse.

What do I have to lose?

I beg your pardon but I never promised you nothing,

And I suppose that was good because I never got nothing.

I beg your pardon but I never promised you a rose garden.

I am a burnt out fuse

What do I have to lose except the blues

I’m a burnt out fuse.

What do I have to lose?