| Busted out to the halfway house
|
| At the top of Undercliffe Road
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| You and me and your motorbike
|
| In the ice and drifting snow
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| 3 a.m. and empty, the city ours alone
|
| And laughing through the trails of frozen breathing
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| I swore to you that I could fly
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| If you only let me go
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| Holding on as we leant over
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| The edge of Baildon Moor
|
| And far beneath the shadowed lands
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| The rocks and shapeless dark
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| And all that space for us to fall in
|
| And all I could feel was myself falling…
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| Neon weekends and madhouse nights
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| And so much time to taste
|
| We built monuments to the things we loved
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| Then laid each one to waste
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| All in suicidal vengeance
|
| Screaming 'justice justice now'
|
| As across the burning bridges we thundered
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| Now all the rooms at the Inn are taken
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| By those wiser than us
|
| We’re still driving for the sunset, love
|
| And then on into the dusk
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| Because all the dreams were meaningless
|
| And impossible to touch
|
| But we’re still crazed enough to drive for ever
|
| I swear that I can stay awake forever |