These New Puritans

Three Thousand Slice through ice Mindfield mics Tone-wheel cyclones Your thoughts mine Wear fun death-suit Tropical design Blade grammar to the death Everybody run (Everybody run) Some hearts bleed So do these Some sounds can put tides in seas We'll

Elvis Elvis, I wasn't talking about that king I wasn't talking about that king I wasn't talking about that king, or hair-do's Elvis, I wasn't talking about that king I wasn't talking about that king I wasn't talking about that king, it's confusing No

Some of these trees have been growing for years the leaves on the floor must be five metres deep the paths are a labyrinth or even a trap some tides don't turn some things never come back. Secret recordings were made in the marsh I bore a hole in the