Church, The – Warm Oily Voices

Baby sleep Dark in a winter of Coral

And sheets of powdering snow

In a cafe somewhere wont you visit us there

But you drink up your wine and you go

The people next door are making these noises

That Seeping into this dream

The cars in the street with there warm oily voices

Starting to whisper the theme

The smoke in this place must have gone to your head

And we’re falling and flailing down (YEAH)

And the metre keeps ticking outside on the road

And the outskirts ******* of town

The people next door are making these noises

Seeping into this dream

The cars in the street with there warm oily voices

Starting to whisper the theme

Morning brings aching, amnesia shadows , like a tray of

colours and rice

In an old river bed of yellows and reds

And your hands and feet are like ice

The people next door are making these noises

Seeping into this dream

The cars in the street with there warm oily voices

Starting to whisper the theme

The people next door are making these noises

Seeping into this dream

The people next door are making these noises

Seeping into this dream