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The distant echo - |
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of faraway voices boarding faraway trains |
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To take them home to |
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the ones that they love and who love them forever |
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The glazed, dirty steps - repeat my own and reflect my thoughts |
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Cold and uninviting, partially naked |
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Except for toffee wrapers and this morning's papers |
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Mr. Jones got run down |
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Headlines of death and sorrow - they tell of tomorrow |
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Madmen on the rampage |
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And I'm down in the tube station at midnight |
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I fumble for change - and pull out the Queen |
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Smiling, beguiling |
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I put in the money and pull out a plum |
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Behind me |
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Whispers in the shadows - gruff blazing voices |
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Hating, waiting |
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'Hey boy' they shout - 'have you got any money?' |
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And I said - 'I've a little money and a take away curry, |
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I'm on my way home to my wife. |
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She'll be lining up the cutlery, |
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You know she's expecting me |
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Polishing the glasses and pulling out the cork' |
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And I'm down in the tube station at midnight |
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I first felt a fist, and then a kick |
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I could now smell their breath |
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They smelt of pubs and Wormwood Scrubs |
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And too many right wing meetings |
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My life swam around me |
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It took a look and drowned me in its own existence |
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The smell of brown leather |
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It blended in with the weather |
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It filled my eyes, ears, nose and mouth |
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It blocked all my senses |
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Couldn't see, hear, speak any longer |
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And I'm down in the tube station at midnight |
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I said I was down in the tube station at midnight |
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The last thing that I saw |
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As I lay there on the floor |
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Was 'Jesus Saves' painted by an atheist nutter |
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And a British Rail poster read 'Have an Awayday - a cheap holiday - |
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Do it today!' |
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I glanced back on my life |
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And thought about my wife |
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'cause they took the keys and she'll think its me |
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And I'm down in the tube station at midnight |
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The wine will be flat and the curry's gone cold |
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I'm down in the tube station at midnight |
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Don't want to go down in a tube station at midnight |