Folded Futures

(one, two, three, four)

Four AM on a cold street corner

Throwing news on the front porch step

Just some kids getting slightly older

Keeping secrets that we haven't kept

Then the sky turned bright magenta

And the clock hands started to spin (where are we now?)

We are the riders of the morning paper Flying past the end

of the world No map can find us,

no time can hold us Just four girls on a crazy run (yeah!)

Nineteen eighty-eight is a lifetime away

Walking through a future we don't understand

Holding on tight to our walkie-talkies Making a promise in the shifting

sand

We are the riders of the morning paper

Flying past the end of the world No map can find us,

no time can hold us Just four girls on a crazy run

Lost in the folds of the timeline

Trying to get back home

(get back home...)

Four AM

Back on the block (the tape rewinds)