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Eyeless In Holloway |
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There's a man at hand, there's a way between |
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The sinking sand and a crooked dream |
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And collared off at the modern age of nine |
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Summoned off for walking down the line |
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They lost eyes in old city streets |
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Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek |
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He filled his boots and he tipped his cap |
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And a root to toot with the boss and that |
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And told a girl of the summer by the sea |
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Said to her, would you like to go with me? |
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Wind is turned and the concord trucks |
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And the singers changed and the hard to soft |
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And in with changes, always out with time |
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Nothing left but walking down the line |
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They lost eyes in old city streets |
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Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek |
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Dragging loose less through the den |
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And I come out less with sporting wear |
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More to fit than you'd be feeling now |
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She is aware that he is always how |
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Then her sweetness and his sweeter scented |
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And her fury's swimming till the fury's bended |
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And lost in all might be to lost in time |
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What joy the darts might be to walk the line |
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They lost eyes in old city streets |
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Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek |
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They lost eyes in old city streets |
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Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek |
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They lost eyes in old city streets |
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Where the funeral pyres burned the last of the meek |
