My senses arise like the dark desert skies on the counties And all things collide when the blacks of her eyes hit my soul The blackbird he cries to the ghosts of the night to be faithful And we all stand in line cos we think it's polite to be bored And you say that it's not what you say And it's always the same like the memory's slain on the day My finger is light on the pulse of my bride in the morning My arms open wide from the things i deny to avoid She spins me a line that she heard from the guy on the TV And we all lose our pride cos it beats k**ing time in the past And you say that it's not what you say And it's always the same like the memory's slain on the day My finger, shows the way to the stars My finger, will it tear us apart And you say that it's not what you say And it's always the same like the memory's slain on the day My finger