The festival is over and the strings of coloured lights
are blowing crazy in the coming wind
one bulb comes loose, shatters on the ground
the empty streets pick up the sound, it echoes like a tiny gunshot
ringing through the damp and through the silence
water trickles slowly like the feel of troubles only half washed away
behind the wire the watchman doing nights sits beside a wall of screens
but he's not watching - gazing into the steam rising from his cup of coffee
he's locked away inside
staring into the light of a different world.
Near the top of sandford road, there's a parked mondeo in the shadows
the lighting of a cigarette illuminates four faces not talking, just waiting
the man in the front passenger seat holds the phone to his ear
listens to a thin voice giving the details
while in the back the boy with the long hair
stares out through the misty glass into the dark streets
and into the light of a different world
Three streets down the restaurant is empty, 3am weeknights, dead-time
the owner came here years ago and never lost the dream of going home
but knows he never will
in the kitchen his son sits head in hands thinks about leaving
anywhere - just somewhere that's not here
doesn't look up or see the mondeo passing outside
he's staring into the light a different world
there's a couple in a red car coming home late on the inner ring
not talking or listening to the music just lost in their own thoughts
the mondeo shoots the lights at sixty-five
swerves, catches the red car that spins and rolls
lands upside down in a crumple of metal and shattered glass
the girl sits trapped inside watching new blood trickle down her shoulder
turns to see her boyfriend slumped against the dash
as a little crowd gathers round
'make him wake up, make him wake up' she's screaming
'make him wake up, make him wake up' and now she's pushing at him
'make him wake up, make him wake up'
but he's gone
staring into the light of a different world
gazing into the light of a different world