Poor Things - Out of Reach текст песни

Though they only see
The catastrophe
That confronts their sight

"Keep your social rep.
Wear your Sunday Best
Don't wake up in strange beds
With an aching head
Wonder' who'll be next"
That's what they said

But hey, hey, hey...

The Sun seems so kind
But I don't know why
- He's like everyone else
And the moon's no fun
Just reflects the sun
No sense of self

If you carry me,
I will carry you
We are soaked to the bone
In our chemicals
What a spectacle
We can't be alone

But hey, hey, hey...

There you out of reach
Only seventeen
You've got jewels in your eyes