Letter From Hiro

I think it was Thursday

I think it was late

1930 - eight

Got a letter from Hiro

But left out the date

He said he was waiting

For an outbreak

Took a look in the mirror

Should have been me

But there was nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

Nothing to see

I draw apart the curtains

Trying to look downstairs

It was utterly futile

So I combed my hair

But all the kids in the factory say

"My letter from hiro came too late"

Communication, keeps me out of touch

The sense means nothing

Well, nothing much

Like the sign on the door

Too hard to see too soft to touch

The age of reason

Is out to lunch

But all the kids in the factory say

"My letter from hiro, came too late"

Too late, too late, too late

9 o'clock in the morning

Sun rising in my head

And I'm not quite sure if I'm just insecure

Or if the problem is simply that we don't understand

About the guns and the crossfire

And the social disease

And while the sun was rising somewhere in the east

And then a "frag" meant more to hiro than to me

And all the kids in the factory say

"My letter from Hiro came too late"