| You go with your two feet bare
|
| Down through the cold lane there, to Brighton
|
| A country house, a liar and a louse live there
|
| And go with your arms held wide
|
| Happiness in your eyes, convincing
|
| And stay the night, turn out every light you see
|
| And lay them down buried in the ground for me
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa…
|
| The tongues of the creatures wait
|
| Drawn to the fragile legs you walk on
|
| A cold wind blows, Brighton to the coast for me
|
| A cold wind blows, Brighton to the coast for me
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa, my love, whoa, my love
|
| Whoa… |