| I don’t believe
|
| My will’s quite free
|
| I’m half machine
|
| At least half steam
|
| Aquinas, call on me
|
| How many angels on the
|
| Head of your pin?
|
| Anybody in stilettos can
|
| Answer that old thing:
|
| It’s one for the right foot, one for the left
|
| Half an angel per pin at best
|
| Add wings, add heart
|
| Add harp, all set
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome
|
| All lines are curved in the velodrome
|
| We pitch and roll, wheels
|
| Flesh and bone
|
| Total control and it’s
|
| It’s ours alone
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome
|
| All lines are curved in the velodrome
|
| We pitch and roll, wheels
|
| Flesh and bone
|
| Total control and it’s
|
| It’s ours alone
|
| It goes gospel, gossip, slander
|
| Harvest, hunger, rain dance
|
| Hand-to-god, I didn’t think
|
| It was contagious
|
| Eve leaving Eden in a makeshift dress
|
| With a bell to tell us when we’re hungry
|
| There’s a bell to tell us when we’re tired
|
| A bell that tells us to rise and fight
|
| A bell to rise and die
|
| It’s just all bells
|
| Sometimes I ring myself
|
| To see if I might chime
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome
|
| All lines are curved in the velodrome
|
| We pitch and roll, wheels
|
| Flesh and bone
|
| Total control and it’s
|
| It’s ours alone
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome
|
| All lines are curved in the velodrome
|
| We pitch and roll, wheels
|
| Flesh and bone
|
| Total control and it’s
|
| It’s ours alone
|
| We spend our days and nights deciding
|
| Where to go and how to ride there
|
| And in the end again
|
| We all vote yes
|
| We all turn left
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome
|
| We lean to turn in the velodrome |