| Stevie said now don’t look round they’re watching us
|
| Two girls in the corner of that dodgy club
|
| And the grey eyes, the storm that I’ve come to know and wish for
|
| Before I caught a breath, well, she was standing there
|
| We walked the streets of our town just talking
|
| And the dawn broke grey and freezing through the deserted blocks
|
| Just when your life is stale and there’s reason there for everything
|
| Something comes to kick you up inside
|
| Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
|
| A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
|
| Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
|
| Trying not to look down
|
| No Rest for the wicked is still how it goes
|
| Twisted up and turning in my bed alone
|
| And separation pains like a blunted amputation
|
| Pushing endless coins in the telephone
|
| Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
|
| A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
|
| Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
|
| Trying not to look down
|
| So rest in these open arms and lie until they come for you
|
| And tell me everything you’ve ever felt, tell me everything you want to see. |
| .
|
| Forever running even when we are standing still
|
| Driven on and fired up as the whirlwinds blow
|
| And shouting out inside «I'm proud of you, I’m proud of you»
|
| Ten thousand footsteps echo down the Brixton Road
|
| Eleven sweet years and no nearer home
|
| A hundred thousands miles through this battle zone
|
| Still high on the wire above the hollow darkness
|
| Trying not to look down |