Dying swans twisted wings, beauty not needed here. Lost my love, lost my life, in this garden of fear. I have seen many things, in a lifetime alone. Mother love is no more, bring this savage back home.
This all started the way things do. With a laugh and a cup of tea around the fire. As we sheltered from those wicked winds in front of that old TV. And we traded ideas as we watched each other with those ambitious bright eyes.
We were singing in the rain - like we invented singing. There's a light in the sky from a million street lights. And we danced all the steps from all those old time movies.
Look out of your windows, watch the skies. Read all the instructions with bright blue eyes. We're W.A.S.Ps, proud American sons. We know how to clean our teeth and how to strip down a gun.
Ch: Four o'clock in the morning and still we cannot sleep. Turning over turning round, twisting in our sweat. They say there is no rest for the wicked ones.
The roll of distant thunder breaks, the afternoon of silence wakes. They hurry through from Petergate as if they know this dance. In fury blind, I drive at night across the moors, the open roads.
Get up early every morning just to put your make up on. The wardrobe's full of useless clothes, your winter coats are gone. The jackal pack is feeding, the motorway sweeps down.
The bonfires blazed across the city, the smoke swirling into the sky. We were standing shoulder to shoulder, Billy McCann and I. Our faces ruddy and burning as we stared into the flames.
The office lines are busy and the girls are working hard. Tonight they'll be out clubbing with their boyfriends busy wishing they were. Gentlemen please take your seats, there's champagne in the boardroom.
This is our town, this is Friday night. Dressed in our rags and our rage and our best. Piercing eyes looking for something - anything, anyone.. Stare across the floor as they begin to dance.