The antennas grew, and the windows sheltered. Soon the sound of sirens became the sound of bells. Don't come back Helen, if you even love me. On the night you left, I dreamt you with grey hairs.
This is our party, with a lock and mohawk. This is our party, this is our waltz, Capital Radio. This is our party, a party of ours, with a lock and mohawk. Ours. Radio Capital.