Driven home back from the city.

Lead grey sky come wash us nearly.

Can't you see there's no horizon?

In this speeding place called London.



I don't think that this makes too much sense.

Dampened soul come called fron slumber.

Woken up; calmed like no other.

As you moan you'll hear my laughter

You grow old, I grow young faster.



I don't think that this makes too much sense.

Can't you see?



I'm all used up.

I need somebody to come and feed me.