Harold T. Wilkins, or How To Wait For A Very Long

You’ve been packing your bags for the tenth time You’ve been up on the roof again And you’re biding your time but it’s all right they’re coming any week now Left behind by the mothership, they’re our only real friends And inside, you’ll always feel the same, even when you wake up Even if you wake up In a town where everyone will kick and scream And come to the same conclusion every time Time to realise you were never on the team There was always a question hanging over you In a hot air balloon with a rusty nail Looking over your shoulder and setting sail Your dreams will become part of the future and coincide with the past You spend all your time by the radio waiting for the signal But inside, you’ll always feel the same, even when you wake up Even if you wake up In a town where everyone will kick and scream And come to the same conclusion every time Time to realise you were never on the team There was always a question hanging over you In a hot air balloon with a rusty nail Looking over your shoulder and setting sail They drive the same road drifting over to your side They drive the same road turn the lights on again They sail the same strait turn the lights on again