shielded from lights too bright
by your face as dark as the night
held back from pits of fire
by the voice they said is a liar

out of here
out of reach
on paradise beautiful beach
out of here
no callback telephones

and if you feel like it
you can guess the end
but you can look at us assured
and know you have seen your friends

i find it hard to think
with a sense of logic,
thought my thoughts can be calculated
the world that i imagine
is where i appear to be situated

i have been filling my head with memories
ever since i can remember
and recently,
since i first tumbled down oxford street

old halls of peeling paint
and drab post promotional pictures
corridors filled occasionally,
by strange overstuffed personnel

took my thought
and rode across the city
on silver metal machines
devoid of horses
metropolis dark and brooding

do they not know?
that is all we want
do they not know or realise
that in everyone’s face
there is sadness in their eyes

you can see me
on a friday evening
wake me up on a saturday morning
holding, diving, weaving, living