Lyrics
Dreams
I was walking past the railyard, when the rust did sing below
Overhead the sky was stitched in twilight with a red and coppery glow
Winds swept sideways like four alley cats on soft paws on the leaves
Saying “Citizen, do not forget what the cityscapes believes”
Then I heard the river laughed a foamy, splashing wetness by the concrete wall of veins
Breaking out in windswept whispers through the subway flow of trains
Watched the seagulls spoke like preacher men on a rusty traffic light
About a cleaner kind of morning and a softer kind of night
Let the air become a flutter of a sharp harmonic cry
Let the oceans roll unblemished beneath a clear blue seascaped sky
Let the streets in Paris breathe the oxygen the parklands made in Nice
Let the corners of the world be singing back its own great newfound old time peace
There’s a forest on my mind with high cathedral sounding zones
Where the roots are writing scriptures in forgotten antique tones
And the deers they step so lightly as if secrets must be kept
While the mountains flush their acid tears, the rainy day had wept
I've seen clouds like newborn prophets in a slowly fluff parade
Gluing shadows to the speckled spots that the sunshine just had made
And the wind, the wind was drifting with a black coiled truth to tell
That the traders traded heavens for a poisoned wishing well
Let the air become a climber of a true guitar blue 'high'
Let the oceans roll unblemished beneath a clear blue seascaped sky
Let the streets of London breathe the oxygen the gardens made in Rome
Let the wildlife of the world be playing back its own great old time fresh genome
Down by the seaside where the breakers clearly speak
Every wave writes documentaries that the shoreline cannot keep
Salty streaks do reach our memories like pin balls stalled in flames
Calling every species back to mother Nature by their names
I saw dolphins leaping in a silvery North Sea spin
As if they recognized the troubles that the fisheries of Oslofjord were really tangled in
And the tide, it was a clock where every ebb refused to lie
About the seafloor's quick demise beneath the night watched moonlit sky
Now the city’s got a heartbeat made of rusty steel and steam
But it dreams of brighter parklands in its dreamtime in between
Every rooftop here is aching for a patch of shiny green
Every skylines attic missing all the blue skies seldom seen
So I’m talking to industrial plants and the blowpipes in the breeze
As the stubborn little flowers still go cracking through the oily streets
To the engines and the echoes and the neon yellow glare
Saying: “There’s a fresher kind of breath in the meadows out of here”
Let the rivers run their lengths, and let the black smoke fall to ground
Let the truth become a tell-tale song in this quiet, rusty town
Cause the earth don't ask for misty tales or grand parades no more
Just a little less destruction, and a little more comfort
Let the air become a waveform of an organ sailing sound
Let the oceans roll unblemished beneath a clear blue seascaped mound
Let the streets of London breathe the oxygen the woodlands made in Maine
Let the deserts of the world be singing back its own green peaceful old time plain