Whistletown

Sometimes I think there's a party on somewhere
But we’ll never get there
See, everything that happens in this village is a dream
You can't talk
About what happens
Here

You return the city and you find the same frame
Around the picture in reach
A figure is missing
You're walking around
Looking out in the streets
Beneath the winged lion
You’re looking for panthers
And anarchy tracings

You see her fade shadow
Engraved on a wall
And you're turning to face all your own fading sorrow
But even your pain was just the dream
There she stands
On the bridge
Of sign
Laughing at your toy boats and saying
Dying ding
And like a piece of thistledown
She drifts away as the train announces
Whistletown...
Whistletown...