You're a wretched angel with a silent temper Indian Summer field of colors spinning like a record Cast off your melancholy clothes Taste the sunshine while you can Dissolve into a careless pose A million roads that lead nowhere Ring the alarm! Sound a truce! For we haven't even been introduced I'm a copper wire twisted 'round a seashell Useless and uncommon, kept beside an inkwell A conversation that is trapped Inside a clockwork figurine A love completely off the map Made of smoke and gasoline Ring the alarm! Sound a truce! For we haven't even been introduced