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"