Radio Freak in a Storm - Pram

When you speak your voice goes to outer space

My words are typhoons, who suck them right out of a storm

And all the satellites are Russian spies in fifty suits

Tampering my coat and into theories

With bleeps and hiss the sky eyes talk to themselves

Too many screens flicker and I walked out

A radio freak in a storm

At the edge of the downs

With braindead smell of my cells disconnecting

At this mind of a telescope I squirm like a bug

Under scrutiny under gloves that’s thick for short-sighted distant objects

Whirl on my spinning chair

I can’t defy gravity

The centre of the universe is in my solid blood cells