Nash Harding -

Michael:

There’s a kid who goes by Nash and who’s been drifting round the streets

No memory past a few months ago and really violent dreams

No where to go and barely sleeps, he makes some change by day

Painting street art for pedestrians, he’s magic some might say

Cause at night in the back alleys, he paints things you can’t believe

Lands and magic doorways, otherwordly scenes

Otherwise he hangs out in all the hippy clubs and coffee shops

Hiding from Arcadia, measuring days with coffee cups

Nash:

When the good times rage and they’re all so thrilld

And you’re glad you’re her at the bash but still

You’re the stranger who just wandered in

You’re the juice who’s lost inside a sea of gin

You’re the orphan at the ballroom dance

You’re the bum in stolen coat and pants

Cinderella waiting for the chime

Of the midnight bells and she’s lost track of time

And spare a drink for the gate crasher

And you think your mind may be broke you’ve no

Memories before a few months ago

Since you woke up in that strange odd place

Did you exist before that very day