| Broken free...almost | |
| Prettier than that butterfly i watch you head off through this night sky | |
| The thought of you lingers like the smoke that's drifting from my fingers | |
| While I sit, i see, there's a tree outside my room | |
| My face reflected in the pain of this moon | |
| Outside the cold rain cleanses my soul, | |
| Whole, the distance between the rooms of my thoughts of us all | |
| Sitting in that room sometimes i get to thinking about myself | |
| Love, where does it come from? | |
| For days on end i would plead to the moon | |
| Where can i find someone to strip my flesh back bare to where the word begins, | |
| Strip my flesh back bare to the wind that violates my skin | |
| Washing away, under the sun, I vanish in the street heat | |
| Melting on tar, lost in a wave of cut-throat urban values | |
| Looking for some, getting too few, breathing fumes and pipe-dreams | |
| Sliding, Holding... | |
| We're up to our necks in it | |
| We're up to our necks in it | |
| Walking the streets of this big shitty gritty city | |
| On a day when i feel like I'm living too close to the big electric light bulb in the sky | |
| Shy, the rats with wings mingle about my feet | |
| When i come to meet a man, a forsaken man | |
| He is alone, he has no home, no family here | |
| No brother, no mother, no sister, no other | |
| He cries to me, he is tired | |
| Where does he send his message? | |
| To what, to whom, to why, to where does he send it? | |
| What force is going to mend it? | |
| If we wished we could help this man and our backs would not break | |
| But hypocrisy only leaves us constantly bended | |
| He wishes to end it | |
| The progress that eats the soul of the past | |
| Demolished, lost and rebuilt | |
| Dehumanised, regimented | |
| When nine-to-five's the doctrine | |
| Give me the sky red behind the grey | |
| Buildings framed in a sunset | |
| I'm Sliding, holding x2 | |
| We're up to our necks in it | |
| We're up to our necks in it |
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