| So here we are, queuing on the street
|
| The ground keeps sticking to your feet, it’s early
|
| The queue is a thousand strong
|
| The town is closing down
|
| Businesses are turning to the shadows
|
| As the shutters go down
|
| I hate to say I could be sold
|
| The shutters I was leaving here
|
| Nice to meet you, on your way
|
| I’m gladly watching the walls come tumbling down
|
| What you pulling out your hair for?
|
| Let’s dance as it hits the floor. |
| (x2)
|
| Every few decades the plans tend to go astray
|
| The blue is turning to the grey, it’s the end of the headache
|
| Everybody is at home, and the streets are alone
|
| The only sound is papers that are blown
|
| By the winds from the sea
|
| I hate to say I could be sold
|
| The shutters I was leaving here
|
| Nice to meet you, but on your way
|
| I’m gladly watching the walls come tumbling down
|
| What you pulling out your hair for?
|
| Let’s dance as it hits the floor. |
| (x2) |