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Credits

PERFORMING ARTISTS
Flotation Toy Warning
Flotation Toy Warning
Performer
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Paul Carter
Paul Carter
Songwriter
Benedict Clay
Benedict Clay
Songwriter
Vicky West
Vicky West
Songwriter
Nainesh Shah
Nainesh Shah
Songwriter
Steve Swindon
Steve Swindon
Songwriter
PRODUCTION & ENGINEERING
Flotation Toy Warning
Flotation Toy Warning
Mixing Engineer
Steve Swindon
Steve Swindon
Engineer
Brian O'Shaughnessy
Brian O'Shaughnessy
Mixing Engineer
Chris Richards
Chris Richards
Engineer

Lyrics

I don't have much time, none of us really do So I'm fucked if I'll be spending it with you You're making history my friend, that said Your histrionics drive me round the bend You have to take what the slipstream sends When your salad days have reached an end You're changing my mind Come take me out where the wild things grow And teach me all that I ought to know You're changing my mind Come fish me out of the idiot soup And all the fun of your other loops You're changing my mind I wrote this letter to myself Well you know me, I like to help It justifies the harm we do Wrapped up in pretty songs for you I'm sorry that I woke you up But you're trussed up here like Lilliput You know I had to join a queue Just to dry these jokes on you I kept you how I saw you last And you're smiling in that photograph I know we buried "ought to do" But mother has more games for you The open door was just a test I'm glad you failed it like the best What passes for a view round here Has a curious taste of understeer Come fish me out of the idiot soup And all the fun of your other loops You're changing my mind Yes, I could have called you more Well, okay I never called at all These parts of me so sharp and curved Have ways I cannot shape to words You shelter in their soft skin glow Drink in its warmth, then let it go The mine you need just isn't here You sat and watched him disappear At times I would have bombed the past My cartoon worlds, they always cast You as punch-drunk, me as slow Both patsy to the undertow Oh let him go, he won't get far He dribbles words, I drive the car It gets us where we need to be With disappointing frequency Are we still running, is this thing on? He'll catch it when you're sure the moment's gone When you think we're only chasing unicorns He'll have it in the walk between two rooms Oh let him go, he won't get far He dribbles words, I drive the car We drag him where he needs to be With disappointing frequency
Writer(s): Benedict Clay, Nainesh Shah, Paul Carter, Steve Swindon, Vicky West Lyrics powered by www.musixmatch.com
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