It starts with distant thunder
Born under skies, dressed in ochre.
Pressure rising up and over
The anticipating land.
Under layers of white noise
And through the static, sounds a voice.
I want to hear the song it sings again (and again, and again)
I remained outside,
With every nerve alive.
Lightning struck without remorse
And gave a cue to move indoors.
The TV died, as did the lights.
In the dark the radio came to life.
Under layers of white noise
And through static, sounds a voice.
I want to hear the song it sings again (and again, and again)
The secret station of my choice…
Forgotten music in the noise,
Inviting me to dance a minor dance.
Faded an ethereal music
That is dying to be heard.
Desperate to mesmerise
And capture our hearts.
Wander in beauty,
And wonder where I’ve been…
Faded an ethereal music
That is dying to be heard.
Desperate to mesmerise
And capture our hearts (again)
Aided by a thunderstorm,
I came upon this station from old days.
I intend to seek it out again
When I need shelter from the rain.
Wander in beauty,
And wonder where I’ve been…