| 作词 : Barson, Thompson | |
| He hums a tune through his street | |
| My unlatched window, the tune repeats | |
| The curb crawling, car winds down to a stop | |
| A few seconds mumbled then whisks him off | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He risks returning through his block | |
| A crack in the curtains is unlocked | |
| No meeting with a mother or greeting a friend | |
| Sharp looking boot jack with time to spend | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He rides tonight through his manor | |
| I can see his conscience get the better | |
| From a doorway stepped in shadowed leather | |
| Exchanging handshakes for money and pleasure | |
| He crawls returning through his scum | |
| From a dirty window, his body’s numb | |
| Beneath the street lamp, tilts shoulders bent | |
| Meets his pickup who pays his rent | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| His leisure |
| zuo ci : Barson, Thompson | |
| He hums a tune through his street | |
| My unlatched window, the tune repeats | |
| The curb crawling, car winds down to a stop | |
| A few seconds mumbled then whisks him off | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He risks returning through his block | |
| A crack in the curtains is unlocked | |
| No meeting with a mother or greeting a friend | |
| Sharp looking boot jack with time to spend | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He rides tonight through his manor | |
| I can see his conscience get the better | |
| From a doorway stepped in shadowed leather | |
| Exchanging handshakes for money and pleasure | |
| He crawls returning through his scum | |
| From a dirty window, his body' s numb | |
| Beneath the street lamp, tilts shoulders bent | |
| Meets his pickup who pays his rent | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| His leisure |
| zuò cí : Barson, Thompson | |
| He hums a tune through his street | |
| My unlatched window, the tune repeats | |
| The curb crawling, car winds down to a stop | |
| A few seconds mumbled then whisks him off | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He risks returning through his block | |
| A crack in the curtains is unlocked | |
| No meeting with a mother or greeting a friend | |
| Sharp looking boot jack with time to spend | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| He rides tonight through his manor | |
| I can see his conscience get the better | |
| From a doorway stepped in shadowed leather | |
| Exchanging handshakes for money and pleasure | |
| He crawls returning through his scum | |
| From a dirty window, his body' s numb | |
| Beneath the street lamp, tilts shoulders bent | |
| Meets his pickup who pays his rent | |
| Sick and tired of abuse | |
| Controlled sign of hysteria | |
| But like when dawn arrives | |
| He remembers his leisure | |
| His leisure |
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