In that old boxcar with the pentagram where the kids all used to hide;

I left my best bracelets there for the scavengers to find

But when I come back last May, the boxcar was cut down

But the smooth scarred boy with ravaging eyes was still hanging around

And it was just as I had dreamed it when we walked along those tracks;

Pulling the sparks from an orphaned rainbow that turned our eyes to black

And then we said:

"The people we see as skeletons, we all know by name"

I'm at the top of a hill, receiving signals that go...

I'm going back to that place!

(And if one day you draw a microphone that makes the radio sing...)

I'll paint a portal through space!

(And cut the cherry cloth born from a string, I'll carry everything.)

Then I'll track you through the alleys and the hours on the trampoline of time

And then I'll take:

The cannons in the park and point them, straight into your heart

Heart...heart...heart...heart...