He said he was a saint And he had some colour movies "you will grow older and then younger Tattoed like a loser" Long streams of silence connect hand to hand With the memories in the car parks And the flowers and the sand So here are the wings and the burnt out suits Here are the maps of all your youth Here where the songs are all of longing Here where the skies are always haunting And I'm running, yes I'm running... I am Running Across Thin Ice With Tigers He was talking as I glanced away At silver tortures in colour vision It was a golden time A time of bones and flowers There was an angel in a ruined suit Stranded on Broadway I gave him change and he gave me the time of day So here are the wings and the burnt-out-suits Here are the maps of all your youth Here where the songs are all of longing Here where the skies are always haunting And I'm running... yes I'm running I am Running Across Thin Ice With Tigers