There's something in your soul that makes me feel so old

In fact I think I've died about six hundred times

There's less of me now and more of me then

I'm moving back to the age of men



Jump off the tarmac there's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet

Soft lenses

Grow to glasses

Small world

Dimly seen through cataracts

Your program

Newspaper

So they say

Rumour spread by word of mouth

Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling off this rotting ladder



Soft lenses

Grow to glasses

Small world

Dimly seen through cataracts

Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling off this rotting ladder



Your program

Newspaper

So they say

Rumour spread by word of mouth

Jump onto the escalator

Press the button on the lift

Raise the dust on old stair carpets

Endless treads like waves of regret

Now it seems I'm going madder

Falling through this rotting ladder



There's something in your soul that makes me feel so old

In fact I think I've died about six hundred times

There's less of me now and more of me then

I'm moving back to the age of men



Jump off the tarmac there's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet

Jump off the tarmac there's no stagecoach speed limit

Outside the office swings the man on the gibbet