Failing seasons, don't look to the trees.
Seven years walking through this nuclear breeze.
Your shoulder in my one hand, the other out-stretched.
Pretending I've a bullet to put this poor thief to rest.
But love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.
Love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.
Tonight we'll have a fire, maybe even sing.
Nine years hiding from gangs who'll do anything.
"Your boy is enough. Let him go, you can go.
Just one donation. Walk on".
Love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.
Love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.
We hit the coast and your planned smile sees no blue.
Love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.
Love's real taste is still something I find in the spaces.