Touched By The Midnight Sun - The Legendary Pink Dots

Falling stars

Crossed fingers

And a penny in the well…

A solitary man

Looked in the mirror, whispered:

«It is hell…

To always be alone…

To hide in shadows

Yet that spiteful sun

Should turn me yellow…

Drive me mad…»

Cue tympanies

A fanfare…

We wore black bands on our arms…

The army fired once

The Queen was looking very, very sad

But now our corridors…

They’re haunted

And we’re ducking pots and pans

We wish to God he’d found the answer…

But no, no flowers ever can

Placate anomalies

Outsiders-ever desperate to connect…

Yes, we are all but islands…

But on some

The sun…

It never sets…