In the bleak mid-winter of seventy-five
on the festive morning, and feeling cold
from black vinyl, Linda sings me alive

Is she just a prisoner in disguise
I sit there freezing while listening close
the music plays on and I close my eyes

Then in the evening, Caroline plays
always there on the sound of the nation
going back in time so many long days

The magical mystery tour, they cried
floating away on radio flashbacks
to long ago before the flowers died

They promise to come and take me away
music inciting and inviting me
until I wish they would take me today