Warm Oily Voices by Church, The

Baby sleep dark in a winter of coral
And sheets of powdering snow

In a cafe somewhere wont you visit us there
But you drink up your wine and you go



The people next door are making these noises
That seeping into this dream
The cars in the street with there warm oily voices
Starting to whisper the theme


The smoke in this place must have gone to your head
And we're falling and flailing down (yeah)
And the metre keeps ticking outside on the road
And the outskirts ******* of town

The people next door are making these noises
Seeping into this dream
The cars in the street with there warm oily voices
Starting to whisper the theme


Morning brings aching, amnesia shadows , like a tray of
Colours and rice
In an old river bed of yellows and reds
And your hands and feet are like ice


The people next door are making these noises
Seeping into this dream
The cars in the street with there warm oily voices
Starting to whisper the theme
The people next door are making these noises
Seeping into this dream
The people next door are making these noises
Seeping into this dream