Uploaded December 2012 | Updated September 2026, 1 hour ago
Piano Magic - Shot Through The Fog,Writers Without Homes (2002)
Lyrics:
Breaking winter up by shooting numbers from the clock
The cat sleeps on the atlas in Alsace Lorraine,
dreaming long grass and birds on the wire
I have memories no deeper than this glass
and some besides that stretch history twice
In a super 8 film colour haze,
a scratched nostalgia that runs through my cogs
shot through the fog
time taking care of whatever I cared about
You are lost somewhere in here
your body, a raft,
spinning towards the falls
Your death claimed me too
There were two throats in the noose but mine now swallows whiskey,
mine is not now bruised
The black mouth of this month, bruised lips, black ice,
forms a sickly smile across London's sky
Piano Magic - Shot Through The Fog,Writers Without Homes (2002)
Lyrics:
Breaking winter up by shooting numbers from the clock
The cat sleeps on the atlas in Alsace Lorraine,
dreaming long grass and birds on the wire
I have memories no deeper than this glass
and some besides that stretch history twice
In a super 8 film colour haze,
a scratched nostalgia that runs through my cogs
shot through the fog
time taking care of whatever I cared about
You are lost somewhere in here
your body, a raft,
spinning towards the falls
Your death claimed me too
There were two throats in the noose but mine now swallows whiskey,
mine is not now bruised
The black mouth of this month, bruised lips, black ice,
forms a sickly smile across London's sky
