Up in the midlands with a malfunctioning heater   And a pair of wet socks that refused to dry   I summoned all of my guts to make a call that would greet her   See if she would connect her voice, would dance with mine   But she plays hard      They said 'look, here ain't a town given kindly to strangers   With Smiths tribute bands, sad closed malls and stale pies   You've got stains on the couch and your cracks in the ceiling   Go on, call reverse charge, put out that burning pride   Because she's on fire'      I smell smoke, Dorothy,    The moon is high over the sea   Scarecrows and tinmen and lions and your shoes   Go on, tap them together, resolder this fuse      Oh, wake up, my burnig bride   You're on fire, you won't help me put it out   You send me out walking and demand for the moon   I grab my butterfly net not a moment too soon.      Hey!