David Sylvian Follow

Half-life
She moves in a half-life
Imperfect

From a place on the stairs
Or sat in the backseat
Sometimes you're only a passenger
In the time of your life
And there's snow on the mattress
Blown in from the doorway
It would take pack-mules and provisions
To get out alive

There were concerts and car-crashes
There were kids she attended
And repeat indiscretions
For which she'd once made amends
Then there's ice on the windshield
And the wipers are wasted
And the metal is flying
Between her and her friends

She'd abandoned them there
In the hills of Appalachia
She threw off the sandbags

As soon as the sun rose
The keys were in the ignition
Following the tiretracks
Of the truck sanding the road

There had to be drugs
Running through the girl's body
There had to be drugs
And they too had a name
And the adrenalin rush
Had left her exhausted
When under the blue sky
Nothing need be explained

And there is no maker
Just an exhaustible indifference
And there's comfort in that
So you feel unafraid

And the radio falls silent
But for short bursts of static
And she sleeps in her house
That once too had a name

Half-life
She moves in a half-life
Imperfect