Transatlantic Shooting Stars - Ben Christophers



Fallen angel in the crowd

Drags her heels over the noise

Lays down at the roadside of regard

A canyon in my broken mind

Echos deep inside the vale

There's dustcarts for the dead birds in the trees



Trans-atlantic shooting stars over mainline

Here they come suburban gods

To bless desire



Heaven hopes you find her here

The raincatchers

The devils blades

There's karma for the misfits of our times



Take this really you take my soul

Take me down when you laugh I fall

All this pity has broken me

But my survival lies with me



I'm going to love you as best as I can

I'm going to hold you close when I tremble

I'm going to love you as best as I can

I'm going to see you rise



I won't ever let you fall out of my senses

Fall out of my own hands

No I won't ever let you let you



Will I find my way home?



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