Last night you said I was cold, untouchable |
| A lonely piece of action from another town |
| I just want to be free, I'm happy to be lonely |
| Can't you stay away? |
| Just leave me alone with my thoughts |
| Just a runaway, just a runaway |
| I'm saving myself |
Strung out below a necklace of carnival lights |
| Cold moan, held on the crest of the night |
| I'm too tired to fight. |
So now we're passing strangers, at single tables |
| Still trying to get over |
| Still trying to write love songs for passing strangers |
| All those passing strangers |
| And the twinkling lies, all those twinkling lies |
| Sparkle with the wet ink on the paper |
Oh I remember Toronto when Mylo went down |
| And we sat and cried on the phone |
| I never felt so alone |
| He was the first of our own |
| Some of us go down in a blaze of obscurity |
| Some of us go down in a haze of publicity |
| The price of infamy, the edge of insanity |
Another Holiday Inn, another temporary home |
| And an interviewer threatened me with a microphone |
| 'Talk to me, won't you tell me your stories." |
So I talked about conscience and I talked about pain |
| And he looked out the window and it started to rain |
| I thought maybe I've already gone crazy |
| So I reached for a bottle and he reached for the door |
| And I picked up the sleeping pills crushed on the floor |
| Inviting me to a casual obscenity. |
It would be incredible if we could |
| Retrace all the times that we lived here |
| All the collisions |
| Wasted, I've never been so wasted |
| I've never been this far out before |
Perimeter walk |
| There's a presence here |
| I feel could have been ancient, |
| I could have been mystical |
There's a presence |
| A child, my child |
| My childhood, a misplaced childhood |
| Give it back to me, give it back to me |
| A childhood, that childhood |
| Oh please give it back to me. |
I saw a war widow in a launderette |
| Washing the memories from her husband's clothes |
| She had medals pinned to a threadbare greatcoat |
| A lump in her throat with cemetery eyes |
I see convoys curb crawling West German Autobahns |
| Trying to pick up a war |
| They're going to even the score |
| Oh... I can't take any more |
| I see black flags on factories |
| Soup ladies poised on the lips of the poor |
| I see children with vacant stares, destined for rape in the alleyways |
| Does anybody care, I can't take any more! |
| Should we say goodbye? |
I see priests, politicians? |
| Heroes in black plastic body-bags under nations' flags |
| I see children pleading with outstretched hands |
| Drenched in napalm, this is no Vietnam |
I can't take any more, should we say goodbye |
| How can we justify? |
| They call us civilised! |