O so small looking down when you fly so close to the sun ,
With a spade digging down under the cold ground,
Into the city , the clocks are ticking , keep your eyes on the sun

I hear her calling over the noise of the roar , I feel her moving under the ground
I see her shapes but I can't see anymore, pack the Datsun , it's time to get out .
Into the sun

As the dew on the blades of grass catch the winter sun,
All the elements collect, mocking as you get cleaning white walls,
In the face of regret ,the fence that you jumped when freedom calls ,
In the desert there's a horse with no home dies where it falls.
Into the city the clocks are ticking
Keep your eyes on the sun.

Copyright: BMG Rights Management
Writer(s): Matthew Edward Tristram Myer, Oliver Howard Knights, Robert Douglas Allum, Stephan Gale Paridjanian