Angela carter puts down her typewriter And stares at the snow Her bones getting brittle, hair turning whiter Such a long way to go Counting the stars in the sky Wondering just where we are Dreaming that you didn't die Morning isn't that far
She lives in her own world She lives in her own world
Tiny little toyshop, playing with fireworks She set fire to the thames Nights at the circus, an army of lovers Like lightning to her friends Indian river runs deep Plunging right off of the page Are you awake or asleep You think I would know by this stage
Angela carter puts down her typewriter And stares at the snow Her bones getting brittle, hair turning whiter Such a long way to go Reflections distorted by time Mirrors corrupted by youth Now that you don't have to lie Why don't you tell us the truth
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