| Missing that wounded girl | 
| Puttin' on her canine teeth | 
| Sun come burn the clouds | 
| Peace come get me now | 
| I’m sick of ticking boredom | 
| Counting down the pealing hours | 
| Harder edges today | 
| Harder edges today | 
| Burgeoning sky all day grey | 
| Like living in a tupperware box | 
| Locks of hair under glass | 
| Stuck full of flies of the past | 
| And I’m sick of ticking boredom | 
| Counting down the pealing hours | 
| She was capable and kind but not inclined | 
| She was capable and kind but not inclined | 
| Oh don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t ask around about me | 
| Shadows are deep and the angles are keen | 
| Lift me out of this pinball machine | 
| Your voice is a tall grass whisper | 
| And I picture a kiss in spectacular station | 
| Your voice has an easy melody | 
| And I’m gently awake from the terrible dreams | 
| Your voice has a mockingbird wisdom | 
| And I flip at indigence and then again | 
| Your voice is an opium smoke plume | 
| The room melts away in a velvet and | 
| Your voice offers no choice but abandon | 
| And I’m rag doll and glad and I’m ten men in love again | 
| So don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Don’t run the numbers | 
| Missing that wounded girl | 
| Puttin' on her canine teeth | 
| Sun come burn the clouds | 
| Peace come get me now | 
| I’m sick of ticking boredom | 
| Counting down the pealing hours | 
| Harder edges today | 
| Harder edges today | 
| Burgeoning sky all day grey | 
| Like living in a tupperware box | 
| Sun come burn the clouds | 
| Peace come get me now | 
| And I’m sick of ticking boredom | 
| Counting down the pealing hours | 
| She was capable and kind but not inclined | 
| She was capable and kind but not inclined |