We could throw ourselves in the road
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but recieve no comfort from street lights
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Why not come in for a James and escape life
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We're idle in the meantime
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Aristocrats and Architects with broken dreams
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Well I say the dead sea is dying
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you say you're going underground for a while
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Well we all need to be recognised for something
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True as the devil's eyes are blue
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Work-a-days and underpaids still hold the keys
|
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I see this place from my window
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It glows on the corner like the rest
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There are the buzzards and the crows
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Pecking eyes of a scene self-obsessed
|
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Now, if commandment 11 is don't get caught
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The 12 must be don't ever tell
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Then ask yourself, do you believe you'll go to hell
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My mate went to the crossroads to see the devil
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but he never showed and if he says that I believe
|
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I hear the place from my window
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Call me like a lighthouse to the sea
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There swarm the buzzards and the crows
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Pulling wide, talking wise endlessly
|
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You and I hanging aroung
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Writing each others' names
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Scissors, we cut it out
|
Enchantment we thought might wait
|
No need to be recognised
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Cause we could be self-assured
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We could be happy indoors
|
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I know this place from my window
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I trip out and fall to the ground down below
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Heads up for the buzzards and the crows
|
Still believe in the void of themselves
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Still believe in the void of themselves
|
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And all the trees and animals and mountains breathe
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Buzzards And Crows
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| Dirty Pretty Things |
