Please move the moon, this man is lost,
drunk with the sight of towering mountains.
With mute desire, ten years ago,
each bough of promise built an ailing tree.
But now that tree, it’s older now,
and stands on sinking sand, alone.
Old thoughts, why did you hang around?
Old thoughts, you’ll grow older without me now.

Who am I? You took me with you.
Next day my eyes didn’t open ‘til two.
Next time I’ll try to think things through.
Who was I? I thought it was me and you.

Two generations of mistakes
with lovers; those years wishing on a star.
I was satisfied with sadness,
but you wanted someone more.
Someone to hold your hand at night,
whom you actually wanted to feel there.
Someone who could stop you crying,
whom you actually wanted to be there.

Who am I? You took me with you.
Next day my eyes didn’t open ‘til two.
Next time I’ll try to think things through.
Who was I? Was it ever me and you?

Hey, Pretty Girl, what’s both’rin you?
I heard your phone-call by the fire exit.
Trust me, I’ve seen those Dollhouse Mountains,
so won’t you spend some time with me?
I’ll tell you loads of stories of
the days I only write about,
so smell the incense in the air,
and fall asleep under my arm.

Who am I? You took me with you.
Next day my eyes didn’t open ‘til two.
Next time I’ll try to think things through.
Who was I? It was always me or you.

Back home, closed off from this adventure,
his father sat still awake past midnight,
remembering his clever son,
remembering that time was gone.
Alone in yellow house, Ness Boy,
turned away from morning window light,
those words they stayed there in his head,
what the man on the little island said:

‘It’s not every day you wake up to a view like that;
doesn’t matter the weather, you’d never get tired of it.’