|
23 degrees off kilter |
|
Spinning with my cup of tea |
|
Grey skies, sleepy eyes as usual |
|
Morning paper says I'm free |
|
Late again no time to witness |
|
Spring flowers dance on this cold wind |
|
Peeling poster sex reminds me |
|
Why pierced tongue ticket man, just grinned |
|
This is killing me |
|
I feel so alone in this crowd |
|
Is this really me |
|
And will this be my child |
|
Cold cash comfort from my pocket |
|
Lights Eastern European eyes |
|
See little grace in god's behaviour |
|
But for the grace of me go I |
|
Clocking in while Mr new tie |
|
Tells me things about his wife |
|
Morning coffee three new e-mails |
|
Still waiting for the fax, of life |
|
This is killing me |
|
I feel so alone in this crowd |
|
Is this really me |
|
And will this be my child |
|
I want to see you |
|
I want to feel you |
|
Not the image of you that this journey's projecting |
|
I want to see you |
|
I want to feel you |
|
Not the Image of you that this journey's projecting |
|
Not the shadow of you solitude is protecting |
|
This is killing me |
|
I feel so alone in this crowd |
|
Is this really me |
|
And will this be my child |