Slideshow

It's a numbers game

I've got a record of a dull day

Sat filling up

Filling up a hard drive

The dark arts are getting lost

In a machine hum

The sound of a thousand muted guns

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, I've probably never had an original thought

A numbers game

A dead phonebook does a balancing act

On a spinning plate

The screen is my half brother

Just another, just another

When the desert is ground to dust

Always steal what can't be won

Pablo said

And he's never, ever, ever, ever wrong

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, I thought we're getting closer, but we're further apart

Fortunate son

Leading from the back

A dead type in an old press pack

Well, who owns the sky?

Well, who owns sky?

Well, you never

You never, you never saw it coming

Walking at you, looking straight backwards

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, I thought we're getting closer, but we're further apart

Well, you're well fed

In a welfare way

Well, you're well fed

In a welfare way

Well, all I can do is talk

Well, all I can do is talk

My god, I've never had an original thought