Driven home back from the city.
Lead gray 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.

Copyright: Downtown Music Publishing, Kassner Associated Publishers Ltd
Writer(s): DOMINIC JOSEPH GREENSMITH, GARY PAUL STRINGER, JOHN DAVID BESSANT, KENWYN JOHN HOUSE