London Lyrics
| Song | London |
| Artist | Sparklehorse |
| Album | Chest Full Of Dying Hawks ('95 - '01) |
| Download | Image LRC TXT |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe | |
| in every cry of every man, | |
| in every infant's cry of fear, | |
| in every voice, in every ban, | |
| the mind-forged manacles I hear. | |
| how the chimney-sweeper's cry | |
| every blackening church appalls, | |
| and the hapless soldier's sigh | |
| runs in blood down palace walls | |
| but most, through midnight streets I hear | |
| how the youthful harlot's curse | |
| blasts the new-born infant's tear | |
| and blights with plagues the marriage hearse | |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe | |
| in every cry of every man, | |
| in every infant' s cry of fear, | |
| in every voice, in every ban, | |
| the mindforged manacles I hear. | |
| how the chimneysweeper' s cry | |
| every blackening church appalls, | |
| and the hapless soldier' s sigh | |
| runs in blood down palace walls | |
| but most, through midnight streets I hear | |
| how the youthful harlot' s curse | |
| blasts the newborn infant' s tear | |
| and blights with plagues the marriage hearse | |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe | |
| in every cry of every man, | |
| in every infant' s cry of fear, | |
| in every voice, in every ban, | |
| the mindforged manacles I hear. | |
| how the chimneysweeper' s cry | |
| every blackening church appalls, | |
| and the hapless soldier' s sigh | |
| runs in blood down palace walls | |
| but most, through midnight streets I hear | |
| how the youthful harlot' s curse | |
| blasts the newborn infant' s tear | |
| and blights with plagues the marriage hearse | |
| I wander through each chartered street, | |
| near where the chartered Thames does flow, | |
| and mark in every face I meet | |
| marks of weakness, marks of woe |
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