He likes to have the morning paper's. Crossword solved. Words go up words come down. Forwards backwards twisted round. He grabs a pile of letters from a small suitcase. Disappears into an office. It's another working day. And his thoughts are full of strangers. Corridors of naked lights. And his mind once full of reason. Now there's more than meets the eye. Oh a stranger's face he carries with him. He likes a bit of reading on the subway home. A distant radio whistling tunes that nobody knows. At home a house awaits him He unlocks the door. Thinking once there was a sea here. But there never was a door. And his thoughts are full of strangers. And his eyes to numb to see. And nothing that he knows of. And nowhere where he's been. Was ever quite like this. And his thoughts.... And at heart. He's full of strangers. Dodging on his train of thought. Train of thought.