| I used to drive for a living, hairy arms fed the wheel thorough my palms
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| Twitching feet made patterns on pedals, reflexes honed in a twice-failed test
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| The pay man Lance kept me elastic bound in the echelons of West One
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| Slim chance of the odd long journey kept me clinging to him for too long
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| Locked in a car all day, came home and worked on Children At Play
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| I had no deal then, but I had fifty blank tapes in a bag waiting
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| I knew it wouldn’t be long before I wrote Carbon Cones
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| Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
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| Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind
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| (Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue)
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| When my Amiga reads from a disk you know the
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| Green fills the room and your long summer dress fills my mind
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| My other jobs were none to speak of: «Make a coffee for the man in Avid One
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| Drop these lunches off then take this Betacam to a place on Dean Street»
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| Most posts seemed to involve the lifting of heavy boxes
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| A man of such small frame as I broke into several sweats a day
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| Whilst failing to procure even the hint of any musculature improvement
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| Heavy-lifting days are in the bin now, but I still dip into tempting
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| Wearing the odd suit, attending the odd interview
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| Subsidising the drum programming you hear today
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| Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
|
| Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind
|
| (Yellow and green, green pea green, cherry red and red and blue)
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| Just yesterday I was woken by a flashing of a
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| Light from my studio confirming that this timestretch was complete
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| Only last week, I noticed that the colours of the
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| Lights in my studio are the same as the ones you conjure in my mind |