More Vibrations/Electromagnetic Smog

Smoked quartz in a cage, 

the divining pendulum,

I'll wear round my neck,

and lean somewhat, 

tap the tip to the phone,

and ask of the messages:

rattle to and fro, 

keep our diamonds bobbing.

And today,

smoked quartz here as well,

behind which me and mum were

waving.

We left before you did,

I couldn't see you,

but a mother's triangulation,

she was getting her eye in,

and suddenly my old Walkman,

the dying drone of it -

it was me who pulled her away,

I can't wave you waving me,

waving is the coach fixed to a point,

it shifts into neutral,

handbrake released,

the world turns until it's somewhere else.