| She wears her Japanese silk slippers | |
| She's standing in a blizzard of post-it notes | |
| On an Afghan rug and smiles | |
| I comb a hand through my hair | |
| I'm fumbling for a word but it's not there | |
| There's just a blind spot in my memory | |
| A friend wrote me a letter | |
| From his cigarette break | |
| He says he kind of found religion now | |
| He says he's doing fine | |
| A motorbike is roaring by outside | |
| I think it would be nice to take a ride | |
| Or spend a while in someone else's head | |
| On the street the psychedelic alcoholic | |
| From number 14 passes me by | |
| He grins as if he knew something | |
| Rent a flat, says a poster, | |
| Rent a thought, rent a lifestyle | |
| Today I saw a shopping cart duel | |
| In the supermarket aisle | |
| No sweets in the sweet shop, | |
| No wind in the tree tops | |
| And there's something in the air | |
| Early snow in October, | |
| All the drunkards are sober | |
| And there's something in the air | |
| All the while I think I gotta leave, | |
| No-one's nice these days | |
| And no-one pays their bills and I've been told | |
| My heart's in perfect shape | |
| Salesmen mumble bible quotings | |
| On the radio like tinnitus | |
| Irony is over, take the trash out | |
| Who said that? | |
| No sweets in the sweet shop, | |
| No wind in the tree tops | |
| And there's something in the air | |
| Early snow in October, | |
| All the drunkards are sober | |
| And there's something in the air | |
| She wears her Japanese silk slippers | |
| She's standing in a blizzard of post-it notes | |
| On an Afghan rug and smiles | |
| The world has turned into a blur | |
| With only random scenes in focus | |
| Cut-out images I cannot possibly explain | |
| No sweets in the sweet shop, | |
| No wind in the tree tops | |
| And there's something in the air | |
| Early snow in October, | |
| All the drunkards are sober | |
| And there's something in the air |
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