Busted out to the halfway house
|
At the top of Undercliffe Road
|
You and me and your motorbike
|
In the ice and drifting snow
|
3 a.m. and empty, the city ours alone
|
And laughing through the trails of frozen breathing
|
|
I swore to you that I could fly
|
If you only let me go
|
Holding on as we leant over
|
the edge of Baildon Moor
|
And far beneath the shadowed lands
|
The rocks and shapeless dark
|
And all that space for us to fall in
|
And all I could feel was myself falling¡¦
|
|
Neon weekends and madhouse nights
|
And so much time to taste
|
We built monuments to the things we loved
|
Then laid each one to waste
|
All in suicidal vengeance
|
Screaming ¡¯justice justice now¡¯
|
As across the burning bridges we thundered
|
|
Now all the rooms at the Inn are taken
|
By those wiser than us
|
We¡¯re still driving for the sunset, love
|
And then on into the dusk
|
Because all the dreams were meaningless
|
And impossible to touch
|
But we¡¯re still crazed enough to drive for ever
|
I swear that I can stay awake forever
|
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Ls43
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| New Model Army |
