(J. Ferguson/Sloan)
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Well you've got your bags together
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And you're off into the new world
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The mother is impatient
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With four sons
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She wanted four girls
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The father's wrapped in memories
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Of European relations
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Counting flurries on the window
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As he dials another station
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Coming home
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It's black upon black
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He's still cutting the track
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Old Ireland's heart
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May still call him back
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At the edge of the scene
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The old glasses were round
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The siren is heard
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It's the cue for his sound
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Alright
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Well alright
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As sovereign of all
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He's likely second to none
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Well, the change is complex
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And it's only take one
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At the edge of the scene
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He's revered by the most
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Not just under our feet
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But from here to the coast
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Alright
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Well alright
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The ties that are loose
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Are the ones that he binds
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If we wander off track
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Well, he'll keep us aligned
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At the edge of the scene
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Not unlike in D.C.
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It's the sound from down there
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Years ago set him free
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Alright
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Well alright
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My story is tame
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No its not very wild
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Expectations were debated
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For this only child
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At the end of the scene
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When our secret's revealed
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You know it's my life
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And it's the way that I feel
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Alright
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Well alright
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When you're miles above Pacific Ocean waters without angel's
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Wings will help with getting closer
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When my headphone chord untangles
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Oh pilot, can you hear me
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Our destination beckons
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Counting raindrops on the windshield
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Yet skies are clear he reckons
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For tonight
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Yeah...
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-----------------
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AT THE EDGE OF THE SCENE
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| Sloan |
