| On a long and winding grey paved street
|
| Your breath the only friend
|
| Chattering others surrounding you
|
| You’re going out again
|
| It’s a laugh and a gas new crowd
|
| You tell yourself
|
| While buttoning up a new red shirt
|
| It’s been a twenty years of doing this
|
| Just the same night into night
|
| Day into day
|
| With your preset mind
|
| Wake up with a preset mind
|
| With no self control
|
| And you decide to call the Roll Call
|
| Of the socialites who mortified
|
| Can’t see as far as their next surprise
|
| Yah, happy with nothing but the sweet F.A. of the night
|
| Believing that they’re alive and well
|
| But if asked
|
| They have nothing to tell
|
| Except the words of a clashing rhyme
|
| I’ll calmed and out of sync
|
| Even real sounds like a zero
|
| To a brain in lip sync
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll'
|
| On a long and winding grey paved street
|
| Your breath the only friend
|
| Chattering others surrounding you
|
| You’re going out again
|
| It’s a laugh and a gas new crowd
|
| You tell yourself
|
| While buttoning up a new red shirt
|
| It’s been a twenty years of doing this
|
| Just the same night into night
|
| Day into day
|
| Forget your preset mind
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll'
|
| Roll' |