Songwriters: Bessant, John David; Stringer, Gary Paul; Greensmith, Dominic Josep; House, Kenwyn John
Driven home back from the city.
Lead grey sky come wash us nearly.
Can't you see there's no horizon?
In this speeding place called London.
I don't think that this makes too much sense.
Dampened soul come called fron slumber.
Woken up; calmed like no other.
As you moan you'll hear my laughter
You grow old, I grow young faster.
I don't think that this makes too much sense.
Can't you see?
I'm all used up.
I need somebody to come and feed me.
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