| Song | Inverigo |
| Artist | Thea Gilmore |
| Album | Recorded Delivery |
| We are late like a midnight train that's running nowhere | |
| We are sticks, we are stones, we are broken bones, we are hot air | |
| We are under the guillotine trying to fix our hair | |
| There's computers clicking binary genius into the night | |
| There are formulas, remedies, reasons, there is hindsight | |
| There's the smell of artillery, there's the sky alight | |
| We are bedrock, we're underground, we are sharp as the rain | |
| We are gathering pace, we are thunder wrapped in cellophane | |
| We are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same | |
| There's a motorway service station on a | |
| January day | |
| There's a lunchtime radio show, there's the shit that they play | |
| There's the percussion of buttons and keys in a cyber café | |
| We are some distant | |
| TV channel, a lesson grown old | |
| We are rhythm and rhyme, partners in crime, we are fools gold | |
| We are free as the wind through the trees or so we are told | |
| There's some faded out manuscript paper and an old clarinet | |
| There is cash on the table, there's a tapestry alphabet | |
| There's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet | |
| There's the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet |
| We are late like a midnight train that' s running nowhere | |
| We are sticks, we are stones, we are broken bones, we are hot air | |
| We are under the guillotine trying to fix our hair | |
| There' s computers clicking binary genius into the night | |
| There are formulas, remedies, reasons, there is hindsight | |
| There' s the smell of artillery, there' s the sky alight | |
| We are bedrock, we' re underground, we are sharp as the rain | |
| We are gathering pace, we are thunder wrapped in cellophane | |
| We are running from the storms of our youth into more of the same | |
| There' s a motorway service station on a | |
| January day | |
| There' s a lunchtime radio show, there' s the shit that they play | |
| There' s the percussion of buttons and keys in a cyber café | |
| We are some distant | |
| TV channel, a lesson grown old | |
| We are rhythm and rhyme, partners in crime, we are fools gold | |
| We are free as the wind through the trees or so we are told | |
| There' s some faded out manuscript paper and an old clarinet | |
| There is cash on the table, there' s a tapestry alphabet | |
| There' s the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet | |
| There' s the moon and the tide and all the songs not written yet |