Wake up feeling good
Go to bed frequently lost in the wood
A soldier's tale of soul winning love
No drunken stuff spewing out of my mouth
All over now out
Birdsong in the night
The sound drags a net through the twilight
Emptiness in computers bothers me
These are the seas in our minds
We make our own confine in time
Writer(s): Damon Albarn, Paul Gustave Simonon
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