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I keep having

dreams of pioneers and pirate ships and Bob Dylan

 Of people wrapped up tight in the thing that'll kill them

 Of being trapped in a lift plunging straight to the bottom

 Of open seas and ways of life we've forgotten

 I keep having dreams

Amy worked in a bar in Exeter

 I went back to her house and I slept beside her

 She woke up screaming in the middle of the night

 Terrified of her own insides

 Dreams of pirate ships and Patty Hearst

 Breaking through a life of a rehearse

 She can't remember which came first

 The house the home or the terrible thirst

 She keeps having dreams

And on the worst days

When it feels like life weighs ten thousand tonnes

She's got her cowboy boots and her keys on the bed stand

 So she can always run

She could get up and shower in half an hour

She'd be gone

I keep having dreams of things I need to do

 Of waking up and not following through

 It feels like I haven't slept at all

 When I wake to a silence and she's facing the wall

Posters of Dylan and Hemingway

 An antique cupboard ... sailor's escape (?)

 She says you just can't live this way

 I close my eyes and never say

 I'm still having dreams

And on the worst days

When it feels like life weighs ten thousand tonnes

I sleep with my passport, one eye on the back door

 So I can always run

 I could get up and shower in half an hour

 I'd be gone

And come morning I am disappeared

Just an imprint on the bed sheets

And by the roadside with my thumb out

A car pulls up and Bob's driving

So I climb in we don't say a word

As we pull off into the sunrise

And these rivers of tarmac

Are like arteries 'cross the country

We are blood cells

Alive in

The blood stream

and the beating heart of the country

We are electric pulses

In pathways of the sleeping soul of the country

We are electric pulses

In pathways of the sleeping soul of the country

We are electric

In the sleeping soul of the country

(the sleeping soul of the country)