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.