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