Lost my youth in a booth on the backstreets of beyond but my
word is a good as any man's bond
stick with me
come and see
that,

you cannot control a runaway, you
may as well try to pack up the day with
ribbons and lace and send it someplace where
the light never shines,
like under the stairs or
locked in the wardrobe
a keyhole, a light strobe and they say
that the world is a globe,
it isn't in here,
this is fear on the flat and that's my belief because
I still believe,
not in pixies or fairies or three blessed hail Mary's
but in the darkness and the heat when you
know that you're beaten but believe that you're not.
I believe in the spot of light through the keyhole and I
believe it's an angel that comes for my soul.

It's a long day for a runaway, but it comes to an end
and the spot of light fades, as the eyelids put shades
on the wandering eyes.