Lyrics The Island - Ed Dowie

Tonight runs the star as it crosses the grass on a lie
And it frightens the answer to starve for a while
Your cardigan flowers as it fusses horizons for ice
A new regulation of art as a smile

Design of hours, and on again onto the store
A container inside leaves a pocket of cider no more
Big rolling surf that falls again onto the shore
A bizarre and heartless home

The numbers were due
The detainees were landed on ice
Four handsome vicars are the carers of old
Your base are given barrels with forints and barrow-man homes
To press send and present the relevant forms

Hurricane island was buried alive by their own
The Department of Tarragon, Sorrel and Palatine Bones
Masterman finds a way, carried on all on his own
By the end of the service have I ever grown?

Designer parents escaping their islands alone
Building escape pods and finding the time to be old
Guess what the island likes?
I've got confessions of souls
I've the grounds to be violent I've often been told
Would I be alive if I tried?
All I'm really offering is off with a sword