His is no dream, these ghosts are no illusion Vandals, kids and thieves Although we often curse them, we praise them for their wisdom As I try to believe what I've read on bus shelters Cos that is where the poets don't disguise their accents I don't dream, how could I ever dream When my nightmares are entrances wholly enclosed, started and angry my palms are cold, stumbling around in my dream He said, she said I don't sing this for them, but for a bunch of my own heroes My weather boy These clouds they make me love you more We sang you songs you gave us more You say that's what your there for But your more than that Your the light Chorus The wisecracking sidekicks with knives at their throats The sidesplitting tell-tales of harbours and ghosts Moonlight sonatas with angels and demons and girls and their droves waving kisses to heathens Street walking send ups with glints in their eyes The smell of stale alcohol lining their sighs Saboteurs and swindlers all cast aside Diving through orchards to surrender their loots A ma** in our hearts as we pray for your loss Arriving with pity to plunder your feast Aloof and self-righteous we all read the tale and tussled for ways we could all shift the blame Sweet bittersweet are the sounds and the sights, bitter and sweet is the sum of our lives Chorus