Woah, woah woah woah woah. Woah, woah woah woah woah. You're never alone. . When time is tight. Days are long. Got to find the light. And keep it on. .
I'm pushed and pulled and shunted. Man handled and man hunted by those faceless names. You've got nine lives, I've got eight. I just can't wait to lock the door and throw the keys away.
When I last saw you. You called,. Called my name out loud. If Id have heard you. You know I would have. Blown away those clouds. . Say what you say. To get you through another day.
You've been away so long, too long. What's wrong with us today?. We're running out of funny things to say. Home, I'm almost glad we made it. I never thought we'd see the day.
I'm flying high on something beautiful and aimless. it's got a name but I prefer to call it nameless.. It comes and goes leaves me on a bed of splinters.
You have to cut right through all the Pepsi lies. And hold on tight, it's a stormy ride. To get through to what you do, like you do. . From wheels that never turn and lessons never learned.
He's moving into an Art Deco pad. To swell the ranks of the clinically sad. Shaking off the past with a change of address. But keeps his telephone number and hopes for the best..
I was never one to shout out loud. Or stand out in a crowded crowd of people with their ball point views. But here I am to bare my soul, lose the past and take control.
If this is the life, if this is the way it is meant to be. How happy am I, how happy am I supposed to be?. Looking for something deep inside. Why is the truth so hard to find.
The voice of reason. Is rhyming with treason today. The laughing Devil. Is chasing the angels away. . The dog is barking, the baby's crying. The rainy days are multiplying.
Remember tumble weeds on an empty road. That coffee pot on a burnin' stove. The Christmas tree in a place a called home. That's what I miss the most. .
Can you hear them. They talk about us. Telling lies. Well that's no surprise. . Can you see them. See right through them. They have no shield. No secrets to reveal.
Sense. Ian Broudie/Terry Hall. I'm flying high on something beautiful and aimless,. it's got a name but I prefer to call it nameless.. It comes and goes leaves me on a bed of splinters,.
I can vibe to anything, do I have to hide from everything?. Everybody wants a piece of me, reach their origin and cease to be. Sit back and let it happen, let us take your time away.