| They’re pacing Piccadilly in packs again
|
| And moaning for the mercy of a never come rain
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| The sun’s had enough and the simmering sky
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| Has the heave and the hue of a woman on fire
|
| Shop shutters rattle down and I’m cutting the crowd
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| All scented and descending from the satellite towns
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| The neon is graffiti singing make a new start
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| So I look for a plot where I can bury my broken heart
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| No, I know I won’t forget you
|
| But I’ll forget myself if the city will forgive me
|
| The man on the door has a head like Mars
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| Like a baby born to the doors of the bars
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| And surrounded by steam with his folded arms
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| He’s got that urban genie thing going on
|
| He’s so mercifully free of the pressures of grace
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| Saint Peter in satin, he’s like Buddha with lace
|
| He’s so mercifully free of the pressures of grace
|
| Saint Peter in satin, he’s like Buddha with lace
|
| No, I know I won’t forget you
|
| But I’ll forget myself if the city will forgive me
|
| No, I know I won’t forget you
|
| But I’ll forget myself if the city will forgive me
|
| Do you move through the room with a glass in your hand
|
| Thinking too hard about the way you stand
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| Are you watching them pair off and drinking 'em long?
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| Are you falling in love every second song?
|
| Do you move through the room with a glass in your hand?
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| Thinking too hard about the way you stand
|
| Are you watching them pair off and drinking them long?
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| Are you falling in love
|
| Are you falling in love
|
| Are you falling in love every second song?
|
| No, I know I won’t forget you
|
| But I’ll forget myself if the city will forgive me
|
| No, I know I won’t forget you
|
| But I’ll forget myself and the city will forgive me |