Theres something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact I think I've died about six hundred times
Theres less of me now and more of me then
Im moving back to the age of men

Jump off the tarmac theres no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet
Soft lenses, grow to glasses
Small world, dimly seen through cataracts
Your program, newspaper
So they say
Rumour spread by word of mouth, jump onto the escalator
Press the b___on on the lift, raise the dust on old stair carpets
Endless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems Im going madder
Falling off this rotting ladder

Soft lenses, grow to glasses
Small world, dimly seen through cataracts
Jump onto the escalator
Press the b___on on the lift
Raise the dust on old stair carpets
Endless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems Im going madder
Falling off this rotting ladder

Your program, newspaper
So they say
Rumour spread by word of mouth
Jump onto the escalator
Press the b___on on the lift
Raise the dust on old stair carpets
Endless treads like waves of regret
Now it seems Im going madder
Falling through this rotting ladder

Theres something in your soul that makes me feel so old
In fact I think Ive died about six hundred times
Theres less of me now and more of me then
Im moving back to the age of men

Jump off the tarmac theres no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office hangs the man on the gibbet
Jump off the tarmac theres no stagecoach speed limit
Outside the office swings the man on the gibbet

See also:
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